ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


By  JOHN  FRANKLIN  SWIFT, 

AUTHOR    OF 

"Going  to  Jericho;    or,  Sketches  of  Travel  in   Spain  and  the  East." 


REVISED  EDITION. 


NEW    YORK: 

Carleton,  Publisher,   Madison   Square. 

A.  ROMAN  &  CO.,  SAN  FRANCISCO. 

»  MDCCCLXXVIII. 


/ 


PREFACE  TO   THE  SECOND   EDITION. 


A  SECOND  edition  of  Robert  Greathouse  having  been  called 
for,  the  author  avails  himself  of  the  opportunity  to  make  some 
corrections  in  the  plot,  'which  he  believes  will  not  only  add  to 
the  interest  of  the  work,  but  render  it  more  valuable  as  a  pic 
ture  of  life  and  manners  in  California  and  Nevada  (as  the 
country  formerly  known  as  "Washoe  "  is  now  called). 

At  the  same  time  he  ventures  to  assure  the  reader  that,  while 
the  story,  jDoth  as  to  character  and  incident,  is  wholly  and  en 
tirely  fictitious,  yet  it  contains  genuine  descriptions  of  social 
and  business  characteristics — some  good  and  commendable, 
and  others  that  are  only  pointed  out  to  be  reprehended. 

And  herein  the  author  especially  refers  to  the  vicious  mode 
in  which,  in  too  many  instances,  mining  properties  have  been, 
and  still  are,  systematically  mismanaged  through  the  machinery 
of  corporations  and  joint-stock  companies,  whereby  the  unsus- 
pecting,  and  generally  those  least  able  to  bear  such  losses,  are 
often  ruined. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  November  25,  1876. 


7*0 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PACK. 

I.— The  Silver  Mines. ..       7 

II. — Edmoud  Graham,  Wife,  and  Daughter 17 

III. — Bob  Greathouse,  the  Murderer 30 

IV. — The-Cosmodental  Hotel 39 

V.— The  Colony  of  Castaways 48 

VI. — Enoch  Bloodstone  "  strikes  "  it  in  the  Graham  Mine  ...     55 

VII. — The  Bosh  Silver-Mining  Company 71 

VIII.— The  Fairy  Island 78 

IX. — The  Blackmail  Suit 89 

X. — Going  to  the  Mines 98 

XI. — Woman's  Rights : IOI 

XII. — Strawberry  Station 108 

XIIL— The  Carson  Grade 112 

XIV. — Snakeweed  and  Spelter,  Counsellors-at-Law 120 

XV. — Education  forms  the  Common  Mind 129 

XVI. — Jack  Gowdy  buys  Mining  Shares 140 

XVII.— Mr.  Napoleon  B.  Spelter 153 

XVIII.— No.  16,  American  Eagle  Hotel 164 

XIX. — A  Declaration  of  Love 167 

XX. — An  Engagement  to  Marry 180 

XXI. — Joy  in  No.  16,  American  Eagle  Hotel 190 

XXII. — An  old  Lover  is  sent  about  his  Business 203 

XXIII. -The  Wedding  Day  is  fixed 213 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

XXIV.— More  Trouble  at  the  Mine 219 

XXV. — How  Mines  are  managed  in  Washoe 224 

XXVI. — Charley  Hunter  obtains  Employment 234 

XXVII. — The  Mother  and  her  Offspring 239 

XXVIII.— Mr.  Graham  visits  the  Fourth  Level „ 244 

XXIX. — Mr.  Graham  has  gone  upon  a  Journey 249 

XXX.— The  Wedding  is  Postponed 253 

XXXI. — Mrs.  Graham  goes  upon  a  Journey 262 

XXXII. — A  Friend  comes  to  see  Helen 274 

XXXIII.— A  worthy  Member  of  the  Washoe  Bar 281 

XXXIV. — Helen  Graham  Consults  a  Lawyer 285 

XXXV. — Conscience  an  Obstacle  to  Justice 291 

XXXVL— The  Obstacle  removed 300 

XXX VII.— The  King's  Writ  runneth  not  in  the  Graham  Mine 307 

XXXVIII. — Joseph  Bowers,  of  Calumet  Creek 315 

XXXIX.— The  Sky  is  more  Overcast 322 

XL. — The  Clouds  begin  to  lift 327 

XLI. — Jack  Gowdy's  Logic 334 

XLII. — A  Private  Writ  of  Habeas  Corpus 345 

XLIIL— Six  Hours  ahead  of  Time. 358 

XLIV. — Serving  the  Writ  of  Habeas  Corpus 365 

XLV. — Home  Again 373 

XLVI. — Another  Engagement  to  Marry 379 

XLVII.— Jack  Gowdy  hands'in  his  Checks 389 

XLVIII.— Exeunt  Omnes 398 


ROBERT    GREATHOUSE, 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   SILVER   MINES. 

A  MORE  uninviting  situation  for  the  residence  of  human 
beings  than  the  sides  of  Mount  Davidson  can  scarcely  be 
imagined.  Standing  in  the  midst  of  a  country  so  destitute 
of  moisture  and  fructifying  soil  that  its  very  valleys  are  deserts, 
the  mountain  rears  its  black  crest  to  a  height  of  ten  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea  level,  and  so  looks  down  in  grim  majesty 
upon  a  scene  of  Plutonian  desolation  that  lies  on  every  side. 
Yet  within  two  thousand  feet  of  the  summit  of  this  barren  rock 
stands  the  town  of  Virginia  City,  containing  a  population  of  »' 
twenty  thousand  souls,  amongst  whom  exist  a  class  of  people 
as  familiar  with  the  refinements  and  usages  of  that  which  we  in 
modern  times  are  in  the  habit  of  calling  good  society,  as  can  be 
found  at  least  in  any  town  of  the  same  size  in  America. 

The  secret  of  such  a  city  being  situated  in  such  a  place  lies 
not  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth,  but  is  hidden  from  view. 
Along  the  whole  face  of  the  mountain  from  the  north  to  the 
south,  extending  many  miles  in  length  and  passing  directly 
under  the  town,  lies  the  vein  of  silver  ore  known  as  the  Corn- 
stock  Lode. 

For  miles  along  this  vein,  at  intervals  of  a  few  hundred  yards 
apart,  the  frail  sheds  covering  the  hoisting  works,  the  smoking 
chimney,  and  the  jet  of  steam,  the  great  pile  of  white  and 
gray  stone  and  debris,  mark  the  shafts  of  the  various  com 
panies  working  the  mine. 

A  wide  thoroughfare,  extending  in  a  strai  ght  line  from  Vir 
ginia  to  Gold  Hill,  passes  precisely  in  front  of  all  the  hoist- 


8  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

ing  works,  and  indicates  pretty  accurately  the  location  of  the 
argentiferous  vein. 

Along  this  road  immense  wagons,  like  huge  houses  on  wheels, 
laden  with  bags  of  ore  or  many  tons  of  loose  silver-bearing 
rock,  and  drawn  by  troops  of  horses  or  mules,  toil  ponderously 
up  and  down,  passing  from  the  mine's  mouth  to  distant  crush 
ing-mills,  which  may  be  seen  spitting  and  fuming  for  miles  and 
miles  down  the  mountain-sides  in  every  direction.  These 
moving  piles  of  rock  are  the  only  indications  to  the  passing 
stranger  of  what  is  being  done  by  busy  thousands  beneath  his 
feet ;  for  as  he  walks  he  passes  over  the  heads  of  miners  who 
are  delving  hundreds  of  yards  below  him  in  the  earth,  which  has 
long  since  been  honeycombed  by  their  increasing  industry. 

The  town  of  Virginia  extends  along  this  thoroughfare,  and 
up  and  down  the  mountain,  on  either  side  of  it,  each  street  being 
a  sort  of  terrace.  At  the  time  our  story  opens  the  splendid 
stone  and  brick  warehouses,  stores  and  hotels,  which  now  orna 
ment  the  town,  were  not  in  existence.  Half  the  shops  were 
still  of  wood,  and  tents  and  shanties  covered  the  mountain-side 
in  motley  and  promiscuous  confusion. 

In  the  commencement  of  cities  in  the  mines  of  the  great 
west  it  has  always  occurred  that  men's  vices  have  been  pro 
vided  for  as  one  of  their  earliest  wants,  and  always  in  advance 
of  anything  like  material  comfort.  Substantial  grog-shops 
spring  up  long  before  the  foundation  of  a  dwelling-house  can 
be  laid. 

San  Francisco  in  her  early  days  possessed  splendid  gam 
bling-saloons  before  decent  inns  could  be  finished,  and  for  years 
the  comfort  and  even  luxury  of  these  hells  rendered  them  the 
general  lounging-place  of  men  who  would  have  blushed  at  the 
bare  thought  of  participating  in  the  disreputable  amusement  or, 
calling  of  the  gambler. 

That  which  has  existed  and  been  suppressed  by  law  in 
San  Francisco  sprang  at  once  into  active  life  and  vigor  in  Vir 
ginia  City,  where  as  yet  no  law  had  been  decreed. 

The  gambling-saloon,  with  its  rich  lights,  comfortable  seats, 
and  tempting  music,  was  the  finest  room  and  in  the  most  cen 
tral  part  of  the  town.  But  small  and  uncomfortable  as  were 
the  houses,  and  dirty  and  unpaved  as  were  the  streets,  Virginia 
City  had  already  become  an  ambitious  town,  and  her  citizens 
talked  gloriously  of  the  future.  Thousands  of  hopeful  adven 
turers  tramped  up  and  down  the  one  uneven  street,  discussing 
plans  for  the  working  of  veins  of  ore  already  discovered,  or 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  9 

hopefully  dreaming  of  lucky  strikes  to  be  made  by  fresh 
searchers.  Already  houses  were  being  built  of  a  more  comfort 
able  character,  to  which  families  were  to  be  brought  from  Cali 
fornia,  or  more  distant  parts. 

In  November,  1861,  there  stood  a  small  two-story  wooden    • 
house  in  the  main  street  of  Virginia.     The  lower  or 'street-floor 
was  used  as  a  shop,  while  the  upper  part  was  occupied  by  a 
gentleman  as  lodgings. 

It  was  after  nightfall  late  in  the  dying  year  when  we  begin 
our  story,  and  the  evenings  had  grown  steadily  in  length  until 
now  they  were  very  long. 

But  this  did  not  appear  to  be  in  the  least  to  the  disadvan 
tage  of  the  gambling-house  across  the  street,  for  its  blazing  oil 
lamps,  with  bright  plated  reflectors,  sent  the  light  gleaming  and 
flashing  far  out  into  the  night,  lighting  up  not  only  the  gay 
saloon  and  the  street  in  front,  but  darting  its  rays  even  through 
the  upper-story  windows  of  the  little  house  opposite. 

The  cheerful  light  did  not  invade  the  chamber  alone ;  for 
with  it  came  the  click  of  the  gambler's  money,  and  the  mono 
tonous  call  of  the  croupiers  as  they  invited  the  anxious  crowd 
to  join  in  the  game,  or  announced  its  fickle  results. 

The  front  room  into  which  the  light  from  the  gambling-house 
so  boldly  entered  was  plain  in  appearance,  its  walls  being  cov 
ered  with  cotton  cloth,  but  furnished  comfortably  though  rudely. 
A  half-dozen  strong  arm-chairs  of  painted  wood,  each  with  a 
loose  leather  cushion,  were  ranged  in  an  orderly  manner  against 
the  wall.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  a  strong  cedar  table, 
covered  with  green  cloth.  Upon  this  were  placed  writing  mat 
erials,  and  the  ink-marks  upon  the  wooden  margin  showed  that 
this  article  of  furniture  was  kept  in  constant  use.  Two  lighted 
candles  stood  upon  the  table,  and  a  man  who  was  the  sole 
occupant  of  the  room  sat  in  an  office  chair  reading  one  of  two 
letters  which  he  had  apparently  just  received ;  for  the  envelope 
freshly  torn  was  lying  on  the  uncarpeted  floor,  while  the  other  .  / 
lay  unopened  before  him.  .His  head  was  large  and  handsome.  '* 
His  hair  but  slightly  sprinkled  with  gray.  His  well-arched  eye 
brows  were  of  the  same  color,  and  had  already  taken  on  that 
long,  shaggy,  and  uneven  look,  that  more  conclusively  than  any 
thing  else  in  the  features  of  a  man  stamps  the  fact  that  the  ful 
ness  of  maturity  has  been  already  reached.  The  clear  blue 
eye,  the  aquiline  nose  and  full  double  chin,  shaven  scrupulously 
clean,  all  contributed  to  the  very  pleasing  and  benevolent  face 
of  a  gentleman  of  fifty  years.  His  figure  was  in  keeping  with 


10  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

his  head.  Commanding  in  height,  and  dressed  with  a  degree 
of  neatness  that  only  the  utmost  care  could  maintain,  the 
most  causal  glance  was  enough  to  reveal  in  Mr.  Edmond 
Graham,  for  such  was  his  name,  all  the  outward  indications  of 
a  thoroughly-educated  and  well-bred  gentleman.  He  had  fin 
ished  reading  his  letters,  and  was  in  the  act  of  refolding  the  last 
one,  when  the  door  opened,  and  a  man,  small  in  stature,  of 
about  five-and-thirty  years  of  age,  entered  the  room. 

"Ah!  is  that  you  Bloodstone,"  said  Mr.  Graham.  "I  am 
glad  you  have  come.  I  was  about  to  go  out  in  search  of  you. 
Take  a  chair." 

All  this  was  said  in  a  tone  of  kindness  and  interest  unmis 
takably  sincere. 

The  man  addressed  as  Bloodstone  took  the  proffered  chair 
and  sat  down  awkwardly,  and  without  removing  his  hat. 

"The  express  has  just  arrived,"  said  the  new  comer  in  a* 
sharp  and  disagreeable  voice.     "  Did  you  get  any  letters  from 
the  bay?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Graham,  "1  have,  and  it  is  about  them 
that  I  wanted  to  see  you.  I  have  received  one  from  my  wife, 
and  also  one  from  Helen.  Mrs.  Graham  insists  more  strongly 
than  ever  upon  being  with  me,  and  will  hear  no  objection ;  and 
now  Helen  has  taken  up  the  same  side.  She  writes  that  her 
mother's  health  is  being  impaired  by  anxiety  for  my  safety; 
that  no  discomfort  or  hardship  which  they  may  have  to  un 
dergo  in  this  wild  place  will  be  half  as  trying  to  her  as  the  days 
and  nights  spent  in  fretting  about  our  forced  separation.  Hith 
erto  Helen,  like  an  obedient  daughter  as  she  is,  has  been  con 
tent  to  take  my  judgment  as  her  own,  and  to  urge  my  view  of 
the  case  upon  her  mother ;  but  now  she  asks  me,  for  her 
mother's  sake,  to  let  her  differ,  and  to  urge  by  all  means  to  let 
them  come  to  me.  They  say  they  are  ready  to  undergo  any 
thing —  to  be  the  servant  of  servants — anything,  so  that  they 
may  be  by  my  side.  What  shall  I  do,  Bloodstone  ?  " 

This  Mr.  Graham  said  with  evident  emotion,  and  stopping  as 
if  quite  overcome  by  his  feelings. 

"  Do,"  answered  the  other,  but  with  no  perceptible  letting 
down  of  the  sharp  voice,  "why,  I'd  let  them  come.  I've 
always  said  so  from  the  first.  This  is  a  good  enough  place  for 
anybody,  and  certainly  if  it's  good  .enough  for  you,  it's  good 
enough  for  your  wife  and  daughter." 

The  high-pitched,  sharp  voice  of  Bloodstone  seemed  more 
unfitted  to  the  subject  and  to  the  tone  of  Mr.  Graham's  mind 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  11 

than  even  his  flippant  mode  of  treating  it.  This  Bloodstone 
saw,  rather  than  understood,  by  the  change  in  the  other's  coun 
tenance,  and  he  came  to  a  momentary  pause,  as  if  abashed. 
Then  he  finished  in  a  dogged  tone,  — 

"It's  a  good  enough  country  for  me,  anyhow." 

While  Bloodstone  was  muttering  over  his  last  remark,  Mr. 
Graham  had  risen  from  his  chair  and  walked  to  the  window,  as 
if  attracted  by  something  occurring  in  the  street. 

"Look,  here,  Bloodstone,"  he  cried,  "and  tell  me  if  this  is  a 
pleasant  place  to  bring  a  wife  and  daughter  to  live  in." 

Bloodstone  approached  the  window  and  looked.  It  was  in 
deed  a  startling  scene  that  met  their  eyes.  The  gambling-house 
which  a  few  minutes  before  had  been  quietly  pursuing  its  regu 
lar  course  of  business,  with  no  sound  except  the  musical  notes 
of  the  orchestra,  the  clink  of  the  dropping  coin,  or  the  crou 
pier's  monotonous  cry,  was  now  the  scene  of  a  fearful  tulmult. 
Shouts  of  rage  or  fear  from  a  hundred  throats  were  mingled 
with  the  sharp  crack  of  the  pistol  and  the  smashing  of  furniture. 
From  the  doors  tumbled  in  tulmultuous  confusion  a  mob  of 
frightened  lookers-on,  while  the  windows  were  being  forced  out 
by  the  blows  of  others  who  eagerly  sought  safety  by  jumping 
into  the  street,  often  carrying  the  sash  and  glass  with  them  in 
the  plunge.  Above  the  heads  of  the  struggling  combatants, 
who  still  occupied  the  centre  of  the  saloon,  could  be  seen  the 
waving  of  various  weapons  and  the  descent  of  blows,  while 
another  set  of  rioters,  from  the  pure  spirit  of  mischief,  were  seen 
breaking  up  the  furniture  of  the  house.  These  were  hurling 
bottles  and  spittoons  with  great  violence  at  the  lamps,  the  mir 
rors,  and  the  ranges  of  decanters  on  the  shelves  and  counters. 
The  malicious  breakers  of  lamps,  however,  proved  themselves 
to  be  the  most  effective  guardians  of  the  peace,  for  the  saloon 
was  soon  in  total  darkness,  and  the  scene  of  the  tumult  once 
more  peaceful.  The  most  desperate  man  will  not  fight  without 
at  least  some  semblance  of  light.  Darkness  favors  retreat, 
for  it  withdraws  from  bravery  its  reward  of  glory. 

The  two  gentlemen  returned  to  their  seats  at  the  table,  and 
Mr.  Graham  broke  the  silence. 

"I  must  go  to  the  bay  to-morrow.  I  will  see  my  wife  and 
daughter,  and  if  I  can  dissuade  them  from  coming  to  this  pan 
demonium,  I  will  do  so;  but  if  I  cannot,  and  my  wife's  health 
depends  upon  it,  then  there's  no  help  for  the  matter;  they  must 
come.  When  will  the  new  hotel  be  finished — have  you  heard  ?  " 


12  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  other,  "it  will  be  opened  in  three 
weeks." 

"What  sort  of  a  place  would  that  be  to  live  in  for  a  time  ?  " 

"  Just  the  thing ;  it  is  to  be  conducted  by  Fogg,  a  well-known 
hotel  man.  And  they  say  everything  is  to  be  carried  on  in 
first-rate  style." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Graham,  after  a  silence.  "  I  will  be 
gone  about  that  long.  You  can  speak  for  rooms  for  us,  to  be 
ready  when  the  house  opens.  I  may  as  well  prepare  for  it,  as 
they  seem  determined  to  come.  What  news  do  you  bring  from 
the  mine  ?  Do  the  prospects  improve  ?  " 

"  Everything  goes  on  favorably.  We  have  struck  some  rock 
J  of  a  better  character  than  hitherto  ;  and  Biggs,  the  assayist,  says 
things  look  as  well  as  we  have  any  reason  to  expect." 

Mr.  Graham  sighed. 

"  It  is  very  strange  that  we  do  not  find  the  vein.  The  com 
panies  working  on  each  side  of  us  have  been  hoisting  out  pay 
ing  ore  for  months,  while  we,  who  were  first  upon  the  ground, 
and  with  the  privilege  of  first  selection,  are  still  sinking  down 
without  reaching  the  lode.  I  fear,  Bloodstone,  that  when  I  do 
reach  the  mine  I  shall  be  so  deeply  in  debt  to  you  and  others, 
that  I  shall  be  ruined  in  spite  of  ail.  I  am  in  danger  of  being 
wrecked  in  sight  of  port." 

"  Oh,  no  fear  !  "  said  Bloodstone,  in  the  same  high,  harsh  key. 
"  While  I  have  any  money,  we  will  keep  on  with  the  work.  As 
for  payment,  everybody  knows  what  the  Comstock  vein  is  ; 
when  once  you  strike  it  you  will  be  out  of  debt,  sir,  directly." 

Mr.  Graham  only  shook  his  head. 

At  this  moment  the  floor  trembled,  and  the  thin,  papered 
boards  of  the  partition  wall  shook,  as  some  one  was  heard  com 
ing  up  the  rickety  wooden  staircase  three  steps  at  a  time.  Di 
rectly  the  door  flew  open,  and  the  person  who  had  been  dealing 
so  recklessly  with  the  staircase  burst  into  the  room  much  out 
of  breath. 

The  new-comer  was  a  young  man  of  medium  height,  with 
light,  curly  hair  and  blue  eyes.  His  dress  was  the  ordinary  one 
of  the  working-men  of  the  mines,  and  consisted  of  a  red  miner's 
shirt,  worn  a  la  Garibaldi,  with  dark  trousers  tucked  into  the 
legs  of  a  heavy  pair  of  top-boots.  His  waist  was  girthed  with  a 
lackered  leather  belt,  sustaining  a  holster  of  the  same  material 
on  the  left  hip,  from  which  protruded  the  polished  handle  of  a 
Colt's  six-shooter.  He  walked  to  the  table,  and  removing  his 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  13 

hat,  bowed  a  good-evening  to  the  gentlemen  ;  and  then  address 
ing  Mr.  Graham,  said,  — 

"  You  told  me  a  few  evenings  ago,  Mr.  Graham,  that  you 
expected  to  go  the  bay  this  week.  It  happens  to  be  my  turn 
to  drive  over  in  the  morning,  and  I  have  saved  the  seat  on  the 
box  with  me,  thinking  that  perhaps  you  would  like  to  go 
along." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Gowdy ;  it  was  very  kind  of  you  to  remem 
ber  me.  Pray  take  a  seat,"  and  he  drew  up  a  chair  by  the 
table. 

Gowdy,  the  stage  driver,  for  that  was  his  name  and  occupa 
tion,  sat  down. 

Mr.  Graham  continued,  — 

"  You  go  by  Nevada  and  Grass  Valley,  of  course  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  That's  just  the  point  I  wish  to  explain.  I  have 
left  the  Mountaineer  Stage  Company,  and  have  joined  the  other 
line.  So  we  go  by  the  Placerville  route." 

•"  Indeed,"  said  Mr.  Graham,  "  that  is  something  new.  You 
know,  Jack,  that  I  always  go  with  the  Mountaineer  line.  How 
did  you  happen  to  leave  their  employment  ?  " 

Jack  twirled  his  hat  in  his  hand  for  a  moment  as  if  in  per 
plexity  as  to  the  place  to  begin,  rather  than  from  the  want  of 
an  answer. 

"  Well,  sir,  you  see  there  were  a  good  many  reasons  why  I 
quit  that  line.  In  the  first  place,  the  road  by  Placerville  is  a 
good  half  hour  the  shortest  road  to  Sacramento ;  and,  if  you 
will  believe  me,  that  half  hour  keeps  a  driver,  who  has  any 
pride  in  his  business,  and  has  any  reputation  to  maintain,  on  his 
metal  all  the  time.  Indeed,  sir,  if  he  is  not  wide  awake  he'll 
be  beaten  every  day  of  his  life.  Well,  sir,  you  know  me  now 
well  enough  to  know  that  I  am  a  man  that  takes  his  coach  to 
the  end  of  the  road  as  quick  as  the  next  man,  or  quits  his  box. 
Besides,  the  owners  of  the  line  were  a  mean  set  of  skunks  any-j 
how.  That  is,  most  of 'em  are.  Tom  McSweeney,  the  presi-j 
dent,  that  lives  down  the  bay,  minds  his  own  business  well 
enough,  and  the  drivers  has  no  particular  cause  to  complain  of 
him.  But  his  brother  Bill  acts  as  a  sort  of  a  road-master ;  and 
lately,  as  the  company  has  been  making  a  good  deal  of  money 
and  a  little  of  it  has  been  dribbling  down  to  him,  he  has  got  to 
thinking  that  he  is  really  as  big  a  man  as  his  brother.  He's 
getting  the  big  so  badly,  that  there's  no  living  with  him  at  all. 
I  promised  him,  some  time  ago,  that  if  he  come  my  way  I'd 
take  the  starch  out  of  him.  So  last  week  a  Monday,  as  I  went 


14  ROBERT   GREAThOUSE. 

over  driving  the  '  Spread  Eagle,'  he  come  down  the  road  in  a 
two-horse  buggy,  and  stopped  against  the  bank  for  me  to  turn 
out  for  him.  Well,  sir,  I  don't  turn  out  for  nobody,  except  ac 
cording  to  the  regular  rules  of  the  road.  I  know  my  rights, 
and  I  don't  turn  out  for  old  Abe  Lincoln,  unless  its  my  place 
to  do  it,  and  then  1  turn  for  a  John  Chinaman  if  he  is  coming 
my  way.  Well,  this  time  it  wasn't  my  place  to  turn  out;  so  I 
stopped,  and  waited  for  him  to  give  the  road.  He  soon  saw 
that  it  was  of  no  use,  so  he  drove  around.  If  he  had  gone  on 
it  would  have  been  better  for  him  ;  but  he  stopped,  and  called 
back  to  know  that  driver's  name,  so  he  could  report  him  at  the 
office.  That  was  enough  for  me.  I  gave  the  lines  to  a  gentle 
man  that  was  riding  o*n  the  box  with  me,  and  I  walked  back  to 
the  buggy,  and  I  said  to  Bill  McSweeney,  'Are  you  the  chap 
that  wants  to  know  the  name  of  the  gentleman  that  drives  that 
coach.' 

"  He  said  he  was  the  same. 

"  *  Well,  then,'  said  I,  '  his  name  is  Jack  Gowdy.  Do  you 
think  you  can  remember  it  till  you  get  home  ? ' 

"  He  said  he  thought  he  could. 

"  '  Well,'  said  I,  '  I  am  afraid  you  can't.  You  will  get  to 
thinking  about  your  business  affairs,  and  how  you  are  going  to 
invest  the  heap  of  money  you  are  making  out  of  these  stages, 
and  the  name  will  slip  from  your  mind  and  you'll  forget  it.  I'll 
just  impress  it  on  your  memory  a  little  more  forcibly.  My 
name  is  John  Gowdy,  but  most  people  call  me  Jack ;  and  I 
drive  the  '  Spread  Eagle  '  stage.  So  saying,  I  reached  up  and 
took  him  by  the  neck-tie,  and,  giving  him  a  jerk,  pulled  him 
over  the  fore -wheel  of  his  buggy  into  the  road.  He  held  on 
to  the  dash-board  till  it  broke,  and  then  he  came  to  me ;  and 
when  I  got  him  there,  I  hammered  him  till  I  felt  pretty  sure  that 
he  would  know  me  or  my  name  either  to  the  day  of  his  death. 
I  would  have  shut  up  both  his  eyes,  but  the  road  down  is  bad,  and 
I  was  afraid  he  would  drive  over  the  bank.  Such  people  are 
not  worth  killing,  sir.  I  drove  my  coach  over  the  road,  and 
then  left  the  company's  service;  and  now  I  am  with  the  '  Light 
ning  Express'  line,  Placerville' route,  and  expect  my  friends  to 
go  on  riding  in  the  coach  that  I  drive." 

"  Well,  Jack,"  said  Mr.  Graham,  with  a  smile,  "  I  suppose 
there  is  no  help  for  it,  so  put  down  my  name  for  to-morrow 
morning,  and  don't  forget  to  call  for  me  in  time." 

Jack  rose  to  go,  but  Mr.  Bloodstone  detained  him. 

"What  was  the  matter  over  at  the  gambling-saloon?"   he 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  15 

asked.  "Just  before  you  came  in,  there  appeared  to  be  a  row 
of  some  sort." 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  answered;  "you  saw  the  fun,  did  you? 

"Yes,  we  saw  something  of  it.  What  was  it  about.  Were 
you  there?" 

"  Was  I  there  ?  Well,  I  should  say  I  was  there,  to  the  extent 
of  getting  a  bullet  through  my  hat,"  saying  this,  Jack' showed  his 
hat,  which  did  have  a  clean,  round  hole  through  the  rim,  evi 
dently  freshly  made.  "  I  was  there  purely  by  accident,  and  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  difficulty,"  he  continued.  "The  truth  is 
that  Bob  Greathouse  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  affair." 

"He  that  is  called  Bob  Greathouse,  the  murderer?"  in 
quired  Mr.  Graham. 

"  Yes,  the  same.  It  appears  that  Bob  discovered  last  night 
that  the  game  dealt  there  was  not  a  fair  game  of  cards.  They 
had  a  way  of  pulling  two  cards  out  of  the  box  together.  So 
Bob  went  there  this  evening  prepared  to  put  a  stop  to  that  sort 
of  thing.  He  always  carries  his  Derringer  pistols,  you  know, 
ready  cocked  in  the  side  pockets  of  his  sack  coat,  so  that  he 
don't  have  to  draw,  but  fires  through  the  tails  of  his  coat.  It 
spoils  his  coats,  but  is  a  wonderful  economy  of  time.  The  dealer 
got  wind  that  something  was  wrong,  and  wouldn't  play  for  Bob 
unless  he  would  sit  with  his  hands  on  the  table — you  see,  sir, 
he  knew  Bob's  ways.  Bob  agreed  to  that,  but  the  moment  he 
saw  the  trick  played  on  him,  as  it  was  played  he  grabbed  all 
the  money  in  sight  and  commenced  shooting.  You  know  how 
quick  Bob  Greathouse  can  do  that.  He  is  the  sprightliest  man 
with  a  single-barrelled  pistol  in  Washoe  Territory.  Of  course 
there  was  an  awful  rush  of  the  outsiders  for  the  windows  and 
doors.  The  head  dealer  tnmbled  over  with  a  bullet  in  his 
shoulder,  at  the  first  shot,  and  two  of  the  cappers  were  winged 
before  they  could  get  under  the  table.  I  took  no  interest  in 
the  skirmish  myself,  whatever,  though  Bob  is  a  friend  of  mine. 
1  didn't  see  anybody  that  I  was  particularly  anxious  to  shoot 
at,  so  I  flung  a  few  bottles  at  the  lamps,  just  to  restore  order, 
and  when  it  was  dark  everybody  left  the  place,  and  I  went  with 
them.  That's  the  whole  story.  I  don't  think  anybody  was 
killed,  and  it's  all  over  now." 

Here  the  stage-driver  rose  to  go. 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Graham,  you'll  hear  of  me  before  five  in  the 
morning.  Good-night,  gentlemen."' 

"  Good-night,  Jack." 


16  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

The  door  closed,  and  Mr.  Graham  and  Enoch  Bloodstone 
were  left  alone. 

"Bloodstone,"  said  Mr.  Graham  after  a  short  silence,  "  I  have 
been  absent  from  my  family  a  long  time,  in  the  prosecution  of 
this  work,  and  now  duty  calls  me  to  them.  But  I  scarcely  dare 
to  go  ;  it  appears  to  me  that  I  ought  to  be  here.  If  is  my  con- 
tmued  disappointments  that  appear  to  enchain  me  to  the  spot. 
It  does  seem  that  fortune  cannot  always  prove  so  cruel  towards 
me.  With  the  best  prospects  on  the  Comstock  Lode,  my  claim 
is  almost  the  only  one  that  has  yielded  nothing.  Can  this  con 
tinue?"  He  asked  this  question  almost  furiously,  as  if  to  say, 
"  You  shall  answer  me.  I  will  not  be  longer  denied  the  secrets 
of  the  earth." 

"  Mr.  Graham,"  answered  the  other  in  his  high,  harsh  key, 
"  I  have  been  your  engineer  and  superintendent  for  a  long  time 
past,  and  ought  to  know  something  of  the  prospects  of  the  mine. 
How  hard  I  have  worked  to  gain  that  knowledge,  you  know  as 
well  as  everybody  else.  The  work  is  being  carried  on  with  my 
capital  alone.  If  I  did  not  see  a  reasonable  prospect  of  suc 
cess,  would  I  be  likely  to  risk  my  own  money  in  the  mine? 
Does  it  appear  probable  that  I  would  do  so?" 

"True,  Bloodstone  —  you  are  rig-il,  and  i  ought  to  have  more 
manhood.  But  it  is  the  thought  of  my  poor  wife  and  Helen, 
that  breaks  me  down." 

He  sat  silent  for  a  time,  and  tru-n  resumed, — 

"I  will  go  and  bring  them  back  with  me.  Perhaps  they 
are  right,  after  all :  where  I  must  be,  there  they  ought  to  be. 
Attend  close  to  the  mine,  Bloodstone,  while  I  am  gone,  and 
let  nothing  be  overlooked.  Your  own  future,  as  well  as  mine, 
lies  in  finding  the  vein.  Good-by." 

They  shook  hands,  and  Enoch  Bloodstone  retired  from  the 
room. 


RE.  i  rno  USE.  17 


CHAPTER  II. 

EDMOND    GRAHAM,    WIFE,    AND    DAUGHTER. 

SF.VENT  years  before  ihe  period  when  our  story  opens,  Edmond 
Graham  was  still  a  country  gentleman,  residing  upon  an  exten 
sive  estate  in  Pennsylvania,  that  had  been  in  his  family  from  the 
days  of  the  Quaker  founder  of  the  colony.  His  lands  were  sit- 
uated  in  Chester  county,  and  his  mansion  was  noted  as  the 
centre  of  a  bountiful  hospitality,  that  spread  its  kindly  and  civil 
izing  influences  over  a  wide  district. 

His  fellow -citizens  had  evinced  their  knowledge  of  his  ster 
ling  qualities  by  the  bestowal  upon  him  of  more  than  one  local 
office  of  trust,  and  culminating  at  last  in  the  supreme  honor  of 
his  representing  the  sovereignty  of  his  State,  by  serving  one 
term  in  the  Federal  Senate.  But  these  public  positions,  as  is 
generally  the  case  in  our  country,  resulted  more  to  the  honor 
than  to  the  pecuniary  advantage  of  the  gentleman  who  held 
them.  At  the  close  of  his  senatorial  term,  Mr.  Graham  discov 
ered  that  which  a  too  close  attention  to  public  affairs  had  long 
concealed  from  him,  that  his  private  business  had  been  badly, 
if  not  dishonestly  mismanaged,  and  that  his  fortune  had  been 
almost  entirely  ruined.  He  found  that  the  estates  which  had 
descended  to  him  from  his  father  free  from  debt  or  charge,  were 
now  encumbered  with  a  mortgage  to  almost  their  full  value,  and 
that  even  the  means  of  supporting  his  family  in  the  liberal  posi 
tion  to  which  they  were  accustomed,  were  no  longer  within  his 
reach. 

This  was,  to  a  high-spirited  man  who  had  up  to  the  age  of 
forty-three  years  pursued  a  successful  and  even  brilliant  career, 
a  most  trying  position.  But  Edmond  Graham  was  at  bottom 
something  more  than  a  man  of  mere  gentlemanly  tastes  and  ed 
ucation.  He  had  been  taught  from  his  earliest  youth,  and  it 
had  become  a  settled  conviction,  strong  as  his  nature,  that  a 
life  pursued  in  any  path  save  that  of  honor  could  only  result 
in  bitter  disappointment ;  that  all  seeming  successes  obtained  by 
forgetting  these  principles  are  but  apples  of  Sodom.  To  such 
a  man  there  was  but  one  course  to  pursue.  His  debts  must 


18  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

be  paid  at  all  sacrifices ;  but  ihis  was  not  enough.  His  fam 
ily  estates,  in  his  judgment,  had  been  received  by  him  from  his 
father  with  the  condition  attached  to  them  that  they  should  go 
to  his  children  as  free  as  he  had  received  them.  He  must  re 
lease  them  from  the  charges  that  had  been  placed  upon  them 
by  his  improvidence  or  thoughtlessness. 

A  second  term  in  the  Senate  was  offered  to  him.  This  would 
have  secured  to  him  for  several  years  a  competency,  but  it  would 
not  pay  his  debts,  and  especially  it  would  not  enable  him  to  clear 
his  lands.  He  must  therefore  decline  a  re-election.  More,  he 
must  withdraw  himself  from  a  historical  position,  from  friendly 
association  with  the  first  men  of  the  land;  must  disconnect  his 
name,  already  distinguished,  from  the  great  national  measures 
that  he  and  his  party  had  undertaken  to  promote.  In  other 
countries  Mr.  Graham,  according  to  the  standard  of  a  different 
system,  might  have  been  taken  up  and  provided  for  with  a  place, 
—  the  governorship  of  a  province,  with  a  large  salary.  Even  a 
substantial  pension  from  the  treasury  at  the  end  of  such  a  careei 
of  national  service,  in  England  might  not  have  offended  public 
opinion.  But  in  the  United  States,  whether  the  policy  be  bet 
ter  or  worse,  it  is  a  settled  rule  that  the  pay  during  the  term  of 
employment  shall  be  deemed  a  complete  discharge  of  the  obli 
gations  due  from  the  people  to  those  who  serve  them ;  and, 
whether  the  rule  be  a  wise  one  or  not,  at  least  office  is  always 
accepted  with  a  full  knowledge  of  this  principle. 

Mr.  Graham  was  not  long  in  deliberation.  Fortunately  his 
wife  was  a  lady  worthy  of  such  a  husband.  "  We  must  at  once 
break  up  our  establishment  at  Washington,"  he  said;  "  our  house 
in  the  city  must  be  sold ;  we  must  try  to  keep  the  family  prop 
erty,  for  it  is  our  duty  to  do  so.  I  hear  marvellous  accounts 
of  the  gold  discoveries  on  the  Pacific  coast,  and  they  appear  in 
the  main  to  be  true.  But  the  payment  of  our  creditors  is  but 
one  of  our  duties  ;  our  children  must  be  educated.  I  will  dis 
charge  the  one  obligation,  and  you  shall  undertake  the  other. 
I  will  go  to  the  new  Eldorado.  You  shall  find  some  quiet  and 
pleasant  educational  place,  where  your  support  will  be  as  light  a 
tax  upon  our  resources  as  possible,  and  with  our  daughter,  wait 
till  a  better  day  comes  to  us." 

To  Mrs.  Graham  the  task  of  duty  was  never  a  difficult  task. 
It  was  the  sole  end  of  her  life.  A  famous  statesman  of  those 
days,  and  whose  name  has  come  down  as  a  monument  of  his 
tory  to  our  time,  once  said  of  this  lady,  — 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  19 

"In  the  whole  world,  there  never  lived  a  more  beautiful 
woman  or  diviner  creature  than  Matilda  Graham." 

For  such  a  woman  to  follow  out  such  a  scheme  to  its  comple 
tion,  was  a  thing  that  nothing  short  of  death  could  prevent.  It 
was  part  of  her  nature.  It  is  needless  to  add,  therefore, 
that  no  time  was  lost  in  carrying  out  this  plan  of  rey-enchment. 

Mrs.  Graham  and  her  only  daughter,  Helen,  then  a  bright 
child  of  twelve  years  old,  were  speedily  settled  at  Wilmington, 
in  Delaware,  a  beautiful  and  retired  town,  with  an  enlightened 
population,  and  where  the  limited  means  at  Mr.  Graham's 
command  were  found  sufficient  to  ensure  to  his  daughter  the 
best  opportunities  of  instruction. 

To  recount  all  the  vicissitudes,  the  bright  prospects,  and  bit 
ter  disappointments  that  fortune  imposed  upon  Mr.  Graham 
during  the  first  five  years  of  his  struggles  in  California,  would 
unnecessarily  prolong  this  story.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the 
period  of  the  silver  discoveries  in  Washoe  found  him  still  ar 
dently  at  work,  but  with  little  benefit  as  yet  reaped  from  his 
exertions.  The  spur  of  duty  acted  upon  his  conscientious  na 
ture  so  as  to  supply  the  energy  and  vigor  usually  found  only  in 
youth,  and  among  the  very  first  of  the  explorers  of  the  rich  but 
rugged  slopes  of  Mount  Davidson  he  was  found  delving  as  hope 
fully  as  men  thirty  years  his  junior. 

We  have  already  explained  the  situation  of  the  Comstock 
Lode.  Crossing  the  face  of  the  mountain  from  north  to  south, 
at  a  point  within  fifteen  hundred  feet  from  the  summit,  the  vein 
of  silver  ore  extends  in  a  right  line  more  than  five  miles  in 
length.  It  is  the  custom  of  the  American  mines,  for  the  dis 
coverers  and  first  settlers  of  a  mining  locality  to  hold  a  meet 
ing,  and  to  organize  the  district,  as  it  is  called.  At  these  primi 
tive  conventions  a  code  of  rules  is  at  once  adopted,  regulating 
the  mode  of  taking  up  and  holding  mining  ground.  They  limit 
the  extent  of  each  individual  holding,  and  prescribe  the  amount 
of  work  that  must  be  done  to  prevent  a  forfeiture  of  the  right. 
These  rules  are  recorded,  and  the  courts  which  generally  come 
after  treat  them  in  their  decisions  of  mining  cases  as  part  of  the 
law  of  the  land. 

The  original  discoverers  of  the  Comstock  Lode  chose  for 
themselves  a  tract  of  ground  fourteen  hundred  feet  in  length, 
extending  along  the  vein,  with  the  right  to  run  back  into  the 
hill  an  indefinite  distance.  This  regulated  the  amount  to  be 
taken  by  others  coming  after  them,  and  the  ground  for  many 


20  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

miles  along  the  supposed  vein  was  located  in  lets  of  fourteen 
hundred  feet  frontage  each. 

But  when  that  which  was  then  supposed,  and  which  afterwards 
proved  to  be  the  true  line  of  the  vein,  had  all  been  taken  up, 
other  adventurers  commenced  laying  claim  to  the  land  in  front 
of  the  lode,  lower  down  the  mountain  as  well  as  behind  it  and 
higher  up,  so  that  in  a  few  months  the  territory  for  twenty  miles 
in  every  direction  was  covered  with  claims.  « 

This  was  done  with  the  not  unreasonable  hope  that  the  vein 
might  not  follow  a  true  line,  but  might  break  oif,  or  change  its 
course  to  some  absolutely  different  quarter. 

Mr.  Graham,  having  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  amongst  the 
earlier  adventurers,  had  selected  a  claim  upon  the  line  of  the 
vein  between  Cedar  Hill,  a  spur  of  Mount  Davidson,  near  the 
original  point  of  discovery,  and  Gold  Hill,  a  point  two  miles 
to  the  south,  and  where  rich  discoveries  were  made  almost  at  the 
same  time. 

The  fact  that  immense  deposits  of  silver  ore  were  known  to 
exist  at  points  on  each  side  of  Mr.  Graham's  claim  rendered  it 
exceedingly  probable  that  a  proper  development  of  his  ground 
would  reward  him  with  equally  rich  discoveries. 

Upon  the  faith  of  these  bright  prospects,  and  very  soon  after 
he  had  commenced  work,  Mr.  Graham  had  yielded  to  the  en 
treaty  of  his  wife,  and  consented  to  his  family  joining  him  at 
San  Francisco. 

They  had  been  separated  five  years,  and  Mr.  Graham  found 
upon  their  arrival,  that  the  child  of  twelve  years,  with  whom  he 
had  parted  at  Wilmington,  had  grown  to  be  a  beautiful  girl,  just 
budding  into  womanhood. 

The  almost  universal  beauty  of  American  girls  is  already  too 
well  known  to  require  comment.  It  has  been  said,  to  their  dis*- 
paragement,  that  they  are  early  to  fade.  This  statement  can 
also  be  safely  left  to  take  care  of  itself.  Nothing  we  could  say 
would  alter  the  facts,  whatever  they  may  be,  nor  would  it  be 
likely  to  influence  existing  opinions,  which  at  least  ought  to  be 
based  upon  something  more  convincing  than  any  individual 
testimony.  A  lady  need  not  be  entirely  beautiful  in  face  and 
form,  to  be  very  lovable.  A  full,  bright  eye,  a  smiling  dimple, 
or  a  pouting  lip,  will  often  alone  redeem  a  face  from  homliness, 
and  make  a  belle  of  an  otherwise  unpretending  girl. 

But  the  character  of  Helen  Graham's  beauty  was  so  wonder 
ful  as  to  startle  and  almost  amaze  one  who  looked  at  her  for 
the  first  time. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  21 

Though  the  beauty  of  American  girls  is  often  spoken  of  as 
something  distinctive  and  national,  we  doubt  if  such  be  the  fact, 
The  collection  of  varying  nationalities  in  our  country  has  been 
too  numerous  to  permit  that,  at  least,  in  young  women. 

The  beauty  of  Helen  Graham  was  of  a  decided  English  type. 
Her  height  was  above  the  medium  ;  in  fact  she  was  tall.  Her 
eyes  were,  for  a  perfect  blonde,  unusual,  for  they  were  brown, 
and  very  wide  apart,  with  graceful  arches  above  them  of  the 
same  color.  Her  chin  was  plump  and  oval,  and  passed  to  the 
throat  and  neck  with  a  sweeping  fulness  that  in  time  ensured  it 
would  be  a  double  one  ;  but  that,  at  the  time  of  which  we  write, 
was  still  many  years  in  the  future.  Her  mouth  was  Cupid's 
own  bow  itself,  which,  when  she  smiled,  opened  just  wide 
enough  to  show  the  tips  of  three  pearly  upper-teeth,  of  match 
less  perfection.  Her  neck  was  long,  and  her  head  set  grace 
fully  upon  her  shoulders,  which  were  so  sloping  as  to  almost 
suggest  their  being  too  narrow.  But  it  was  her  hair  that  most 
decidedly  stamped  the  peculiar  quality  of  the  blonde  upon  her 
beauty.  It  was  a  rich,  golden  yellow,  growing  in  unstinted 
profusion,  long,  line,  and  with  a  natural  wave  running  through 
it,  that,  when  the  light  fell  upon  it,  gave  to  its  'color  a  change 
able  character  to  darker  or  lighter  shades.  Her  hands  were 
smooth  and  graceful,  her  fingers  regular  and  tapering.  Her 
feet  were  not  small ;  they  barely  escaped  the  suspicion  of  being 
large ;  they  were,  long  and  narrow,  and  in  perfect  proportion 
with  her  height.  The  bearing  of  Helen  was  even  more  beautiful 
than  her  face  and  figure.  Her  education  had  been  made  as 
perfect  as  it  was  possible  to  do  in  the  best  schools  of  America, 
and  her  movements,  as  well  in  the  presence  of  strangers  as 
when  alone  with  her  own  family,  were  all  alike  natural,  easy,  and 
graceful.  The  quality  of  her  moral  organization  we  shall  not 
attempt  to  foreshadow,  as  the  reader  will  have  a  full  opportunity 
of  studying  her  character  as  shown  by  her  own  conduct  in 
the  course  of  this  story,  and  can  form  such  conclusions  as  the 
facts  may  warrant. 

The  most  pleasing  circumstance  to  Mr.  Graham,  was  the 
fact  that  his  daughter  had  grown  up  to  be  the  perfect  image  of 
her  mother  at  the  same  age.  Even  now,  the  mother  and 
daughter  were  so  much  alike  as  to  be  mistaken  constantly  for 
sisters.  When  the  fond  father  looked  upon  her,  he  saw  his 
early  love  reproduced  precisely  as  he  had  known  her  twenty 
years  before. 


22  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

Any  father  would  have  hoped  to  find  his  daughter  grown  up 
to  be  a  handsome  young  woman.  Mr.  Graham  had  reason  to 
expect  at  least  this  result,  but  when  hurrying  from  the  mine  to 
the  city,  he  met  her  on  the  steamer's  deck,  and  looked  upon  the 
noble,  the  queenly  creature  into  which  his  little  brown-eyed  pet 
of  five  years  ago  had  developed,  it  was  with  a  feeling  more 
nearly  akin  to  alarm  than  pleasure.  What  can  I  do  with  this 
splendid  being  in  this  wild  country  ?  he  mentally  asked  himself. 
And  then  he  thought  of  the  uncertainty  and  doubt  that  still 
hung  over  his  prospects.  Where  should  he  place  her  ?  He 
had  never  until  that  moment  realized  the  fulness  of  the  respon 
sibility  resting  upon  him.  Here  he  was  engaged  in  a  doubtful 
enterprise,  in  search  of  the  precious  metals  that  might  or  might 
not  be  hidden  somewhere  in  the  line  of  his  excavations  far 
down  in  the  earth;  with  no  friends  save  those  made  in  the 
selfishness  of  trade,  with  no  home  other  than  some  great 
American  caravansary,  the  common  home  of  himself  and  all 
the  world  besides,  here  was  brought  to  him  his  only  daughter, 
in  appearance  a  beautiful  woman,  in  years  a  nursling,  a  flower. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  reflection.  Mr.  Graham  did  the 
best  thing  for  his  family  that  lay  in  his  power ;  mortal  could  do 
no  more.  He  settled  them  in  a  suite  of  apartments  at  the  Cos- 
modental  Hotel,  trusting  as  trust  he  must  that  the  sterling  prin 
ciples  he  knew  so  well  were  part  of  the  nature  of  the  mother, 
would  watch  over,  protect,  and  guard  the  daughter. 

This  done,  and  with  many  a  silent  prayer  in  favor  of  the 
loved  ones  addressed  to  Him  that  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn 
lamb,  and  with  many  misgivings  and  doubts  that  would  not  be 
put  down,  the  father  returned  to  Virginia  City  to  devote  him 
self  more  industriously  than  ever  to  the  early  realization  of  his 
dream  —  to  ravish  from  malignant  fortune  the  means  of  placing 
his  family  in  the  position  to  which  he  felt  they  were  entitled. 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  follow  minutely  the  daily  history  of 
the  Grahams  during  the  two  years  that  elapsed  between  the 
arrival  of  the  mother  and  daughter  from  the  East,  and  the 
period  at  which  we  open  our  story.  It  was  without  special  in 
cident.  To  the  father  it  was  time  devoted  to  patient,  self-im 
posed  toil,  made  endurable  only  by  the  consciousness  of  duty 
faithfully  performed.  The  life  of  the  mother  and  daughter  did 
not  differ  materially  from  that  led  by  most  families  residing  in 
hotels.  But  where  it  did  differ  it  was  invariably  to  the  credit 
of  their  prudence  and  discretion. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  23 

Life  in  hotels  in  America  is  a  natural  and  necessary  conse 
quence  of  the  imperfect  organization  of  a  young  community. 
It  prevails  more  generally  in  the  newer  portions  of  the  country, 
and  disappears  as  society  matures.  It  is  seldom  willingly 
adopted,  and  never  save  as  a  choice  of  evils.  It  will  be  seen 
that  the  Grahams  submitted  to  this  unpleasant  mode  of  exist 
ence,  understanding  its  faults,  and  with  a  determination  to 
render  them  as  harmless  as  possible.  They  kept  themselves 
more  than  is  usual  within  their  own  apartments,  meeting  the 
other  residents  in  the  house,  as  is  the  custom,  at  the  table,  but 
seldom  elsewhere.  They  spent  but  little  of  their  time  in  the 
public  parlor,  receiving  such  acquaintances  or  friends  as  cir 
cumstances  threw  in  their  way,  invariably  in  their  own  private 
saloon.  Such  a  course  of  conduct,  it  is  true,  brought  upon 
them  at  times  the  ill-will  of  such  envious  or  spiteful  people  as 
were  for  any  reason  more  accessible  in  their  habits.  But  Mrs. 
Graham  always  mildly  parried  the  hints  and  insinuations  of  the 
dissatisfied  ones  by  the  reminder  that  her  husband  was  absent. 
And  in  the  broadest  code  of  hotel  life,  this  could  not  fail  to  be 
admitted  as  an  unanswerably  sufficient  excuse.  Even  the 
original  unpopularity  brought  upon  her  by  what  was  charged  at 
first  as  an  aristocratic  exclusiveness,  in  a  few  months  passed 
away  under  a  uniform  gentleness  of  demeanor  and  decorous 
and  kindly  treatment  of  all,  and  those  who  by  any  chance  fell 
within  the  charm  of  her  presence  went  away  lauding  to  the 
skies'  the  affability  and  courtesy  of  the  ladies  who  had  become 
the  pride  and  glory  of  the  hotel.  If  Mr.  Graham  found  that 
his  prospects  at  the  mine  did  not  improve  as  time  passed  away, 
his  burdens  were  at  least  not  materially  increased  by  the  posi 
tion  or  conduct  of  his  family. 

Each  afternoon,  as  regularly  as  the  express  itself,  came  two 
letters  to  tell  the  anxious  and  toiling  father  of  all  that  had  hap 
pened  in  the  rooms  of  the  Cosmodental  Hotel  within  the  last 
twenty-four  hours.  Did  they  receive  no  matter  how  short  a 
visit,  it  was  recorded  by  two  faithful  scribes,  with  the  minute 
ness  of  a  pair  of  astronomers  noting  an  eclipse,  with  its  hours 
of  commencement  and  termination,  its  incidents  and  its  ec 
centricities  set  down  for  the  loving  eyes  of  the  absent  one. 

Generally  these  daily  chronicles  of  domestic  history  were  so 
unimportant  that  the  father  saw  in  them  only  the  connecting 
inspiration  that  annihilated  space  and  joined  their  loving 
hearts,  though  many  leagues  apart.  The  facts  recorded 


24:  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

would  be  forgotten  as  soon  as  read.  Sometimes,  however,  a 
word  or  a  line  would  appear  that  would  cause  Mr.  Graham  to 
start  and  turn  back  to  read  again.  This  was  most  likely  to 
occur  when  a  gentleman  had  called,  as  some  did,  though  never 
unless  formally  introduced  by  some  well-known  and  considerate 
friend.  Fathers  are  always  more  jealous  of  those  who  would 
visit  their  daughters,  than  are  mothers.  Heaven  has  provided 
that  women  shall  be  the  match-makers  of  the  world,  and  who 
shall  question  the  wisdom  of  its  providence. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  year  Mr.  Graham  began  to  notice 
the  occurrence  of  a  particular  name.  It  appeared  oftener  thaia 
any  other  one  name,  and  yet  not  very  often  at  that.  None 
but  a  father,  and  a  very  anxious  father,  would  perhaps  have 
observed  the  fact  at  all.  But  the  name  was  a  singular  one  to 
Mr.  Graham.  He  was  sure  that  he  had  never  heard  it  before, 
and  was  equally  sure  that  he  did  not  like  it.  It  was  Blood 
stone.  He  never  saw  the  name  in  either  of  the  daily  letters 
without  a  disagreeable  sensation  seizing  him  just  for  the  mo 
ment.  "Bloodstone,"  he  soliloquized  with  a  shudder,  "how  can 
anybody  be  of  this  name  of  Bloodstone?"  More  than  once 
he  was  on  the  point  of  writing  to  Matilda  and  to  Helen  to 
remonstrate  with  them  upon  the  impropriety  of  having  a  person 
with  such  a  name  visit  them,  or  even  to  speak  to  them.  But  a 
second  thought  always  suggested  the  obvious  injustice,  and 
even  the  absurdity  of  objecting  to  a  gentleman  confessedly  prop 
er  in  all  other  respects,  simply  because  he  was  called  by  a 
disagreeable  name.  Yet  he  could  not  escape,  reason  as  he 
would,  the  inevitable  sensation  of  horror  that  would  glide  along 
his  nerves  and  creep  through  his  marrow,  when  he  would  read 
the  name  of  the  new  friend  of  his  family. 

Mr.  Graham  watched  the  letters  that  came  to  him  daily,  and* 
weighed  and  analyzed  them  as  carefully  and  noted  the  results 
as  systematically  as  a  meteorologist  watches,  and  weighs,  and 
notes,  and  analyzes,  the  action  of  the  elements,  one  year  with 
another,  in  working  out  his  problems.  He  kept  lists,  and  he 
knew  accurately  the  rate  of  frequency  of  the  visits  of  each  male 
acquaintance,  and  their  average  duration.  And  it  was  not  long 
before  he  discovered  that  the  visits  set  opposite  the  name,  Blood 
stone,  both  in  frequency  and  duration,  exceeded  that  of  any 
other  name  as  the  number  of  five  is  in  excess  of  three. 

About  the  same  time,  the  letters  from  Matilda  and  Helen 
each  separately  suggested  the  same  circumstance.  They  had 


ROBERT   GREATIIOUSE.  25 

observed  the  phenomenon,  and,  it  appeared,  were  no  better 
pleased  with  it  than  was  the  fatlrer.  This  gentleman  was  well 
enough,  they  wrote.  He  was  admitted  to  be  a  man  of  fortune 
and  reputable  enough,  or  at  least  came  so  recommended  by  re 
putable  people.  But  neither  mother  nor  daughter,  and  in 
this  as  in  all  things  they  agreed,  could  endure  the  man  ;  his 
very  presence  was  disagreeable ;  the  reason  why,  they  could 
not  explain,  unless  it  was  his  horrid  name.  They  feared  dear 
father  would  laugh  at  them,  but  Bloodstone  was  a  horrid 
name,  and  made  the  chills  run  over  them,  so  they  wrote. 
They  did  not  know  how  to  be  civil  to  him,  and  already  feared 
that  they  had  involuntarily  given  him  cause  of  offence  by  their 
manner,  though  never  intentionally. 

A  week  or  thereabouts  elapsed,  and  the  express  brought  not 
two,  but  four  letters  from  the  rooms  at  the  Cosmodental.  Two 
were  written  in  the  ordinary  course  of  correspondence,  and 
posted  at  three  o'clock.  The  other  two  were  mere  notes,  writ 
ten  hastily  half  an  hour  later.  The  horrid  Bloodstone  had 
proposed  for  the  hand  of  Helen.  Each  writer  closed  with  the 
same  remark,  "  I  always  knew  there  was  something  bad  about  \/ 
that  Bloodstone." 

Mr.  Graham  walked  up  and  down  the  room  like  a  caged 
Bengal  tiger. 

"  So  did  I,"  he  muttered  ;  "  yes,  so  did  I.  How  can  a  man 
be  right  when  his  name  is  Bloodstone  ?  " 

The  next  day  came  long  letters  with  full  details.  The  man 
had  not  proposed  by  word  of  mouth.  He  had  declared  his 
passion  by  means  of  a  letter.  The  letter  proved  to  be  as  ex 
traordinary  as  the  name  and  character  of  the  man  were  unusual. 
The  writer  commenced  by  admitting  that  he  had  observed 
what  he  had  but  too  good  reason  to  believe  was  the  evidence 
of  a  settled  dislike  on  the  part  of  both  the  ladies,  but  especially 
on  the  part  of  Miss  Graham,  towards  himself,  but  that  he 
loved  her  nevertheless.  That  he  possessed  a  liberal  fortune, 
and  could  if  necessary  produce  evidence  of  the  respectability 
of  his  origin  and  the  purity  of  his  life.  That  feeling  that  he 
had  not  made  a  favorable  impression  upon  the  object  of  his 
love,  and  to  relieve  her  from  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  per 
sonally  rejecting  him,  he  had  resorted  to  the  plan  of  addressing 
her  in  writing,  That  he  now  formally  offered  her  his  hand  and 
fortune.  But  in  the  belief  that  at  present  Miss  Graham's  mind 
is  prejudiced  against  him,  and  that  she  will  decline  the  proposal, 
that  he  will  so  accept  it  without  an  answer  on  her  part.  But 


26  ROBERT   GREATHOUSS. 

he  adds  that  he  will  take  the  liberty  of  making  the  offer  a  con 
tinuous  one,  to  be  kept  open  for  her  acceptance  as  long  as 
she  shall  remain  living  and  unmarried.  And  with  the  assur 
ance  that  he  shall  devote  the  remainder  of  his  life  to  over 
coming  the  objections  that  lie  between  him  and  the  possession 
of  Miss  Graham's  hand,  he  subscribes  himself  her  very  obedi 
ent  servant,  Enoch  Bloodstone. 

This  sketch  of  the  note  of  proposal,  the  ladies  followed  by 
appealing  to  Mr.  Graham  for  advice.  The  deliberation,  the 
defiant,  business-like  coolness  with  which  the  matter  was 
treated,  seemed  to  fill  them  with  a  terror  that  was  utterly  un- 
explainable  upon  any  reasonable  grounds. 

They  appeared  to  dread  some  mysterious  force  quite  outside 
of  nature,  that  the  incomprehensible  Bloodstone  might  bring 
to  bear  upon  Helen,  and  force  her  in  some  manner  to  marry 
him. 

"  What  can  he  mean  ?  "  they  asked. 

"  She  never  shall  marry  him,"  cried  Matilda. 

"  I  will  die  before  I  will  marry  him,"  echoed  Helen. 

But  each  assertion  was  made  feebly,  as  if  to  conceal  a  latent 
doubt  in  poor  Helen's  powers  of  resistance  against  the  sup- 
\/  posed  superhuman  influence  in  the  control  of  the  fearful  Blood 
stone. 

For  many  days  the  daily  letters  could  speak  of  nothing  but 
Bloodstone  —  his  name,  his  proposal  and  subsequent  conduct. 

Yes,  that  was  simple  enough.  He  had  not  again  made  his 
appearance  at  the  apartments  of  Mrs.  Graham,  nor  did  they 
hear  him  spoken  of  as  being  about  the  town.  Natural  deli 
cacy  forbade  their  making  any  inquiry,  and  at  last  they  be 
gan  to  suspect  that  he  had  left  the  city.  He  appeared  to  have 
kept  the  secret  of  his  offer  of  marriage  as  closely  as  Helen  and 
her  mother  had  done,  for  no  hint  of  the  matter  was  heard  to 
drop  from  the  lips  of  the  most  ardent  lover  of  gossip.  At  last, 
there  being  absolutely  no  new  phases  to  the  affair,  it  gradually 
dropped  out  of  the  letters  and  ceased  to  be  spoken  of. 
;  In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Graham  was  more  and  more  deeply 
absorbed  in  the  mine.  Things  went  daily  from  bad  to  worse. 
All  the  resources  in  his  possession  at  the  time  of  the  commence 
ment  of  the  work,  had  long  since  been  swallowed  up  by  the 
insatiable  cavern  that  he  was  opening  in  the  mountain-side, 
and  for  months  he  had  been  going  on  with  the  work  wholly 
upon  credit.  Each  day  the  vast  ball  of  debt  that  he  was  roll 
ing  on  before  him,  became  larger  and  more  difficult  co  move, 


IVERS: 

?r  C^xV 
ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE.  27 

u  itil  now  it  threatened  to  overwhelm  him  in  irretrie\  able  ruin. 
It  was  about  this  period  that  he  began  to  observe  from  time  to 
time,  a  stranger  standing  about  the  doors  of  the  hoisting  works, 
and,  at  occasions,  by  the  shaft's  mouth. 

^  Then  he  found  the  same  person  politely  requesting  permis 
sion  to  look  at  the  mine. 

Mr.  Graham,  in  the  integrity  of  his  nature,  had  no  secrets.  If 
he  had  not  found  the  vein  while  others  all  up  and  down  the 
lode  were  doing  so,  it  was  in  his  judgment  no  disgrace,  but 
simply  his  misfortune.  The  request  was  granted  without  hesi 
tation.  These  visits  were  repeated  from  day  to  day,  and  the 
stranger's  face  became  a  familiar  one. 

In  no  long   time  Mr.   Graham  found  himself  almost  every 
morning  accidentally  meeting  and  conversing  with  this  stranger, 
who  appeared    intelligent    enough  and    especially  conversant 
with  mining  in  all  its  branches,  as  well  as  engineering.     Mr. 
Graham  only  observed  that  he  did  not  like  the  sound  of  his  ( 
voice;  it  seemed  to  be  always  pitched  so  high  as  to  wholly' 
lack  sympathy.     The  maintaining  of  so  high  a  key  at  all  times 
made  it  disagreeably  monotonous. 

One  evening,  while  sitting  in  his  room  engaged  in  working 
up  the  sum  of  his  debts,  and  studying  how  to  put  off  pay-day 
a  little  longer,  there  came  a  tap  at  his  door. 
"  Come  in,"  said  Mr.  Graham. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  gentleman  entered.  It  was  the 
stranger. 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Graham,  kindly,  "I  am  glad  to  see  you; 
pray  take  a  chair,"  at  the  same  time  pushing  one  toward  him! 
"  I  suppose  you  have  become  lonely  here  among  all  these 
rushing,  hurrying,  digging,  money-getters,  and  have  come  in 
to  see  a  familiar  face,  and  to  converse  half  an  hour.  I  am 
glad  you  have  called.  This  is  a  dull  place  for  a  stranger,  sir, 
and  especially  to  one  who  has  no  interest  in  the  mines." 

The  stranger  accepted  the  chair  with  thanks,  and  sat  down. 
His  conversation,  as  usual,  was  intelligent  enough,  but  Mr.  Gra 
ham  again  observed  the  total  lack  of  sympathy  in  his  new  ac 
quaintance's  voice.  It  was  harsh  and  discordant.  After  a  few 
minutes  the  stranger  said,  — 

"  Mr.  Graham,  you  have  been  mistaken.  I  am  not  here  for  a 
social  half-hour,  as  you  supposed,  but  to  talk  with  you  about 
business." 

The  other  turned  and  regarded  the  speaker  with  polite  n^ual 
tion.  Ailing,  when 


23  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  stranger,  "upon  business.     Not  upon 
my  business  entirely,  but  upon  yours." 

This  time  Mr.  Graham's  face  assumed  a  look  of  deep  atten 
tion.  ,  ,  . 

"  I  have  been  here  now  for  some  time,  Mr.  uranam,  looking 
at  the  various  mines  on  the  Comstock  Lode.  I  have  made  a 
thorough  examination  of  them  all,  from  the  mines  that  com 
menced  Cedar  Hill,  to  the  other  side  of  Gold  Hill,  and,  sir,  I 
find  your  mine  the  most  promising  of  them  all.  I  have  heard 
of  your  troubles  and  financial  difficulties,  and  believe  you  can 
be  brought  safely  through  them  all.  I  am  a  thorough  civil  en- 
gin-er  and  understand  mining  in  all  its  departments,  as  well  as 
any  man  in  this  Territory,  I  am  sure  ;  besides,  I  have  an  inde 
pendent  fortune  which  I  have  made  in  the  mines  of  California. 
I  have  come  here  to-night  to  place  the  whole  of  it  at  your  dis 
position.  I  will  manage  your  works  and  furnish  the  capital. 
Will  you  let  ma  help  you?" 

The  words  of  the  stranger  were  words  that  again  oper  :d  to 
the  poor  discouraged  and  ruined  gentleman  the  vision  of  a 
paradise  that  he  had  dreamed  over  for  years,  but  from  which, 
of  late,  stern  reality  had  shut  him  out.  He  almost  forgot  his 
instinctive  dislike  to  the  man's  voice. 

"Who  makes  me  this  noble  offer?"  he  inquired  after  a  mo 
ment's  reflection. 

The  stranger  for  the  first  time  hesitated,  and  his  eyes  fell. 
My  name  is  Bloodstone,  sir  — Enoch  Bloodstone. 

At  the  mention  of  this  name,  Mr.  Graham  almost  bounded 
from  his  chair,  so  suddenly  did  he  start.  He  stood  upon  his 
feet  a  moment  holding  on  to  the  side  of  the  table,  staring  all 
the  while  at  the  stranger  ;  then  settling  down  slowly,  he  remained 
in  silence  for  a  time,  as  if  recovering  from  a  fatigue.  At  last  hel 

"I  have  heard  your  name  before.  Mr.  Bloodstone." 

"  I  supposed  you  had,  sir,"  said  the  other  in  his  harsh,  high 

kev 

Another  silence,  during  which   it  was  evident  Mr.  Graham 

was  making  an  effort  to  be  calm. 

"  Is  this  offer  contingent  in  any  manner  upon  the  present  or 
future  conduct  of  my  daughter?" 

This  was  said  with  a  sternness  of  tone  that  approached  severity. 

"  No,  Mr.  Graham,  it  is  not  the  least  in  the  world,  and  if  you 

UF-  allow  me   I  will  explain   myself  more  fully.     I  met  your 

ing  on  uc^  c;an  Francisco  some  months  ago,  and  became  deeply 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  29 

in  love  with  her.  That  I  acknowledge  ;  how  could  I  do  other 
wise  ?  1  saw  that  she  did  not  return  my  love,  nor  was  she 
likely  to  do  so.  I  wrote  her  the  letter  which  I  presume  you 
have  seen,  and  have  not  approached  her  in  any  manner  since. 
Mr.  Graham,  I  still  love  your  daughter,  and  always  shall  do  so. 
I  told  her  in  my  letter  I  should  devote  my  life  to  removing  her 
objections  to  me.  It  is  for  that  reason,  I  confess,  that  I  came 
hither.  I  make  but  one  condition  with  you,  Mr.  Graham  ;  it  is 
this  —  let  me  help  you,  and  be  with  you.  If,  when  you  know  me 
better,  you  find  me  to  be  a  man  of  good  character,  of  suffi 
cient  education  to  be  mentally  the  equal  of  your  daughter,  that 
then  you  will  not  object  to  my  seeking  to  win  her.  Even  then, 
sir,  I  ask  only  that  you  will  not  oppose  me,  or  force  upon  her 
any  other  love,  to  my  exclusion." 

The  offer  was  one  which  did  not  bind  Mr.  Graham  to  much. 
The  complete  rejection  of  Bloodstone,  after  all  was  done,  was  a 
contingency  clearly  provided  for,  should  Helen  remain  obdu 
rate.  But  it  was  evident  that  Mr.  Bloodstone  entered  upon  his 
Jacob-like  service  with  the  belief  that  it  was  amongst  the  rea 
sonable  probabilities  that  she  might  in  the  end  accept  him. 

Mr.  Graham  saw  in  his  heart  that  this  could  never  be.  The 
man's  hard  features,  his  unsympathetic  voice,  all  told  plainly 
that  a  woman  of  the  delicate  and  sensitive  nature  of  Helen 
Graham  could  never  love  him.  All  this  Mr.  Graham  under 
stood  at  a  glance ;  and  so  he  hesitated.  How  can  I,  he  thought, 
make  use  of  such  a  man,  upon  such  terms,  when  I  feel  morally 
convinced  it  must  end  in  disappointment  to  him,  sooner  or 
later.  He  could  not  answer  Bloodstone.  He  was  too  full  of 
conflicting  emotions. 

"Come  to  me  in  the  morning,"  at  last  he  said,  "and  I  will 
give  you  my  answer.  I  need  time  to  reflect  upon  your  strange, 
but,  I  must  confess,  generous  offer." 

The  struggle  that  must  go  on  in  the  heart  of  an  honest  and 
proud  gentleman,  when  called  upon  to  decide  on  the  one  hand 
between  the  strict  line  of  duty,  leading  to  inevitable  ruin  and  beg 
gary,  not  only  to  himself,  but  to  a  beloved  family,  and,  on  the 
other,  a  slight  departure  from  it,  promising  wealth  and  pros 
perity,  is  beyond  the  powers  of  human  description. 

It  is  certain  that  Mr.  Graham  ought  to  have  declined  'the 
proposals  of  Enoch  Bloodstone.  His  heart  told  him  that  Helen 
would  never  marry  that  man  of  her  own  free  choice,  and  he 
knew  equally  well  that  he  would  never  willingly  use  his  parental 
authority  to  cause  her  to  do  so.  But  in  the  morning,  when 


30  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

Bloodstone  carne  to  Mr.  Graham's  office,  he  found  him  ready  to 
accept  the  terms  offered  the  night  before.  How  he  arrived  at 
that  conclusion  I  must  leave  to  the  reader's  imagination.  He 
may  be  able  to  find  a  better  reason  for  his  conduct  than  can 
the  author.  Enoch  Bloodstone,  when  our  story  opens,  had  been 
both  capitalist  and  engineer  of  the  Graham  mine  for  a  twelve 
month  ;  but  with  apparently  no  better  success  than  before  his 
arrival.  Day  and  night  men  were  steamed  up  and  down  the 
shaft  in  great  gangs,  delving  in  the  rock  of  Mount  Davidson. 
Month  after  month  passed  away,  and  the  furtive  silver  vein  still 
kept  its  hiding-place.  But  the  mine  of  Mr.  Bloodstone's  pocket 
held  out  as  did  his  courage,  and  so  the  work  went  on. 

For  a  long  time  Matilda  had  been  pleading  to  *be  allowed  to 
come  to  Virginia,  to  aid  and  encourage  her  husband.  Her  duty 
she  said,  was  by  his  side.  This,  Mr.  Graham  had  opposed 
vehemently.  His  objection  had  been,  so  he  said,  the  discom 
fort  of  the  life  they  would  have  to  lead.  But  in  truth,  at  the 
bottom  of  it  all,  was  the  superintendent.  He  could  not  endure 
that  Helen  should  be  where  that  mysteriously  disagreeable  per 
son  could  see  her,  much  less  speak  to  her.  But  at  last  Helen 
wrote  that  her  mother's  health  was  involved  in  the  matter,  and 
that  the  visit  could  no  longer  be  safely  put  off. 

The  reception  of  this  letter  and  its  effect  has  been  recounted 
in  the  first  chapter. 


CHAPTER  III. 

BOB    GREATHOUSE,    THE    MURDERER. 

IT  was  a  November  morning,  and  the  sun  had  already  fallen 
into  the  sluggard  habits  of  winter.  Long  before  he  arose,  John 
Gowdy's  coach  had  left  Virginia  far  in  the  distance,  and  was 
whirling  down  the  mountain-side,  along  the  narrow  grade,  by 
the  fuming  furnaces  of  a  hundred  quartz  mills,  through  the 
narrow  pass  of  Devil's  Gate,  past  Silver  City,  and  when  the 
drowsy  passengers  began  to  open  their  eyes  and  look  about 
them,  the  panting  mustangs  were  tugging  at  the  coach,  as  it 
noiselessly  floated,  rather  than  rolled,  through  the  sea  of  white 


ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE.  31 

» 

dust  that,  like  a  great  heap  of  wood-ashes,  covers  the  plains  of 
Carson  Valley. 

A  two  hours'  drive  before  daylight,  on  a  sharp  November 
morning,  does  not  make  men  communicative.  Not  till  the  sun 
was  high  above  the  Humboldt  Hills  was  the  silence  broken. 
The  first  to  speak  was  the  driver,  who,  seeing  that  though  the 
outside  passengers  were  all  awake  and  looking  about  them,  yet 
conversation  had  not  commenced,  politely  introduced  them  to 
each  other.  Mr.  Graham,  who  sat  on  the  seat  with  the  driver, 
was  formally  made  acquainted  with  the  two  gentlemen  on  the 
back  seat,  and  they  with  each  other. 

To  the  reader,  who  is  familiar  with  the  republican  customs 
of  the  West,  no  explanation  of  this  will  be  necessary.  All 
passengers  while  in  the  stage-coach  are  upon  a  perfect  social 
equality.  If  there  be  such  a  thing  as  a  superior  person  in  the 
company,  that  person  is  unquestionably  the  driver.  The  seat 
by  his  side  is  the  most  comfortable  one,  and  the  two  behind 
him  follow  next  in  order.  These  places  he  generally  manages 
to  dispose  of  to  the  persons  whom  he  considers  to  be  of  the 
most  consequence,  and  thus  finds  himself  the  centre  of  an  in 
telligent  and  obliged  circle.  It  might  be  thought  that  a  position 
of  such  power  would  render  stage-drivers  supercilious  and  over 
bearing  towards  those  who  are  thrown  temporarily  into  their 
care.  I  have  not  found  it  so.  The  newness  of  the  American 
communities  situated  upon  the  Pacific  coast,  and  their  distance 
from  the  older  settlements  of  the  East,  have  kept  back  railways, 
and  so  given  "  staging,"  as  it  is  called,  an  exceptional  extent 
and  importance. 

The  dangers  attending  the  position  of  stage-driver  have  in 
fluenced  strongly  the  characters  of  the  men  pursuing  this 
calling.  The  roads  through  the  mountains  would  not  be  deemed 
practicable  in  other  countries.  Most  of  them  would  be  thought 
attended  with  no  little  risk,  even  as  bridle-paths  or  mule-routes. 
They  are  often  mere  shelves,  cut  along  the  mountain-sides, 
not  wide  enough  for  two  carriages  to  pass  each  other,  with  no 
thought  of  a  curb  or  railing ;  and  it  is  no  unusual  thing  to  see 
the  coach  thundering  along  one  of  these  grades  as  fast  as  six 
horses  can  run,  the  wheel  at  all  times  within  from  one  to  four 
feet  of  the  unprotected  edge  of  a  precipice,  pitching  off  ab 
ruptly  for  one,  in  some  instances  two,  thousand  feet  in  depth. 

But  the  roads  are  not  the  only  perils  of  the  California  and 
Washoe  stage-driver.  He  passes  constantly  through  wild  tracts 
of  country  inhabited  alone  by  hostile  tribes  of  savage  Indians. 


32  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

Against  these,  with  no  succor,  save  his  own  sturdy  heart  and 
utrong  arm,  aided  by  his  never-laid-aside  six-shooter,  —  for  his 
company  is  usually  made  up  largely  of  non-combatants,  women 
and  children,  or  men  of  peaceful  habits,  fresh  from  less  perilous 

fields, the   stage-driver  must  make  his  way  from  station  to 

station,  as  best  he  can.  To  fail,  is  to  perish  miserably.  He 
comes  in  "  on  time,"  if  he  is  alive.  If  he  does  not  report 
himself,  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  send  another  driver,  and 
with  him  another  stage-coach  and  horses  and  more  passengers, 
for  all  of  them  are  gone  and  will  never  be  heard  of  again. 

Such  men  as  these,  when  on  the  box,  surrounded  by  their 
little  company  of  passengers,  are  not  mere  stage-drivers.  They 
are  gentlemen,  soldiers, 'chieftains  at  the  head  of  the  cohorts, 
and  the  person  who  forgets  or  ignores  this  fact  fails  to  render 
homage  where  it  justly  belongs.  Surliness  and  impertinent 
familiarity  are  the  two  opposite  vices  into  which,  ordinarily, 
persons  in  similar  employment  are  prone  to  drift.  But  these 
are  the  vices  of  menials,  and  Washoe  stage-drivers  are  not 
menials.  I  have  seen  reserved  stage-drivers,  that  chilled  you 
with  cold  dignity ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  I  have  seen  stage- 
drivers  so  affable  as  to  at  last  tire  you  with  their  attentions. 
That,  and  nothing  more.  I  have  never  met  with  an  insolent 
stage-driver,  or  a  stage-driver  who  did  not  consider  that  he  held 
the  position,  and  was  expected  to  behave  like  a  gentleman. 

The  names  and  faces  of  the  passengers  on  the  back  seat 
were  not  new  to  Mr.  Graham ;  but  this  was  the  first  of  any 
thing  like  an  actual  acquaintance  between  them.  The  gentle 
man  directly  behind  Mr.  Graham  proved  to  be  Mr.  Marvin 
Withergreen,  of  San  Francisco,  whither  he  was  then  journeying. 
Mr.  Graham  had  long  known  of  this  gentleman  as  president, 
and  chief  manager  of  the  Pactolus  Silver  Mine.^  Of  this  mine 
he  knew  something,  from  the  circumstance  that  it  was  adjoining 
his  own,  but  not  upon  what  was  thought  to  be  ^  the  line  of  the 
Comstock  vein.  It  was  one  of  the  later  locations,  taken  up, 
as  we  have  already  mentioned  in  another  chapter,  after  the 
main  lode  was  supposed  to  be  covered,  and  in  the  hope  of 
finding  a  break  or  change  in  its  course. 

Mr.  Withergreen  was  understood  to  be  a  wealthy  San-Fran 
cisco  capitalist,  who  only  came  occasionally  to  Washoe,  to  look 
after  his  interests,  which  were  not,  it  was  said,  confined  solely 
to  the  Pactolus  mine.  Mr.  Graham  had  not  heard  much  of 
him,  and  that  little,  if  he  remembered  rightly,  was  not  wholly 
to  his  credit.  Not  that  he  remembered  of  any  specific  charge 


X C  3EF  T   GRE.  I THO USE.  33 

being  made  against  the  gentleman,  but  rather  vague  hints  that 
he  possessed  more  boldness  than  principle,  or  something  to 
that  effect. 

The  other  passenger  was  introduced  to  Mr.  Graham,  by  the 
driver,  as  Colonel  Greathouse ;  but  the  title  alone  was  new  to 
him.  For  it  was  no  other  than  Bob  Greathouse,  of  whom  the 
reader  will  remember  to  have  heard  something  in  the  first 
chapter,  where  he  was  the  leader  in  the  gambling-house  fight 
therein  described.  "Bob  Greathouse,  the  murderer,"  for  by 
that  startling  title  was  he  known  throughout  the  Territory  of 
Washoe,  cannot  be  understood  without  a  careful  description. 
But  of  that  description  he  was  well  worthy,  for  he  faithfully 
represented,  certainly  a  class,  and  almost  a  race  of  men  once 
plenty,  now  passing  rapidly  away.  The  south-western  desperado 
or  border-ruffian  will  not  be  known  to  the  next  generation, 
except  as  a  historical  character.  To  this  distinction  Bob 
Greathouse  had  fought  his  way  proudly  and  defiantly  through 
unnumbered  hand-to-hand  combats,  with  equally  desperate 
men,  with  pistol  and  with  bowie-knife.  To  the  title  of  "Great- 
house,  the  murderer,"  he  had  waded  through  the  blood  of 
twenty,  some  even  whispered  thirty,  not  unworthy  foes.  Five 
had  he  slain,  it  was  said,  in  California  and  Oregon  alone.  The 
statistics  of  his  prowess  in  Washoe  could  not  fail  of  being  ac 
curate.  It  was  positively  known  to  be  seven  during  the  brief 
period  since  the  territorial  occupation.  The  aggregate  total 
of  blood  varied  according  to  the  uncertain  and  shifting  data  of 
legendary  victories  that  floated  hence  from  distant  Texas. 

It  will  no  doubt  be  asked,  why,  when  it  was  positively  known 
that  seven  men  had  been  slain  by  him  in  the  very  town  of  his 
residence,  and  within  a  period  so  recent  it  happened,  that  he 
was  still  at  large  and  unpunished. 

The  answer  is  that  the  rule  of  municipal  law  had  not  yet 
begun.  That  the  community  was  stronger  than  any  individual 
member,  and  could  have  dealt  with  these  acts  in  a  summary 
way,  is  true.  Lynch  law  is  powerful,  but  it  is  seldom  put  in 
force  except  under  excitement.  It  is  only  when  the  community 
feels  itself  menaced,  that  it  will  rise  up  and  deal  with  the  wrong 
doer. 

The  men  killed  in  these  broils  were  the  associates  and  fellows 
of  the  man-slayer.  They  were  the  same  class  of  desperate  men, 
often  themselves  murderers,  for  whom  the  community  felt  no 
sympathy.  Quiet  people,  were  generally  glad  to  hear  of  one  of 
them  being  killed,  and  only  felt  sorry  that  the  fight  had  not  been 
3 


34  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

productive  of  more  bloody  results.  Simple  theft  in  a  new 
community  is  thought  to  be  a  more  dangerous  crime  than  man  • 
slaughter. 

Had  Bob  Greathouse  been  detected  in  the  act  of  stealing  a 
mule  or  robbing  a  sluice-box,  he  would  have  been  hanged  by  a 
jury  of  miners  in  two  hours  after  detection  with  as  little  delibera 
tion  as  he  would  have  killed  a  man  in  a  quarrel  over  a  game  of 
cards.  But  no  man  in  the  Territory,  not  even  the  Governor, 
would  have  been  thought  less  likely  to  be  guilty  of  such  a  crime 
than  Bob  Greathouse,  the  murderer.  To  cheat,  to  steal,  to  lie, 
these  were  the  petty  tricks  of  cowards  and  sneaks.  Gentlemen 
could  not  stoop  to  such  acts,  and  Bob  Greathouse  was,  accord 
ing  to  a  standard  of  his  own,  a  gentleman.  It  was  certainly  a 
strange  standard  that  would  extend  this  term  to  Greathouse, 
the  man  of  blood,  the  gambler,  whose  whole  life  was  a  continual 
defiance  of  society,  its  laws  and  tribunals.  But  the  standard 
seems  only  strange  when  contrasted  with  the  notions  of  the 
times  outside  the  circle  that  created  and  was  governed  by  it. 
The  south-western  desperado  does  not  after  all  differ  very  widely 
from  the  wandering  knight  of  the  fifteenth  century.  Bob  Great- 
house  was  as  brave  as  the  best  of  them.  He  was  equally  well 
skilled  in  the  use  of  the  arms  of  his  time,  and  quite  as  prompt 
to  use  them.  Honor,  such  as  it  was,  according  to  his  own  rude 
notion,  was  to  be  preserved  at  all  hazards.  But  he  had  fallen 
upon  an  utilitarian  age,  and  he  was  useless. 

There  was  a  place,  though  a  bad  one,  in  the  economy  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  for  the  knights-errant ;  and  which  place  it  is  a 
growing  opinion  of  our  times,  they  by  their  faults  created  for 
themselves  ;  but  there  was  no  place,  or  at  best  a  very  transient 
one,  in  the  toiling,  money-getting  society  of  Washoe  for  Bob 
Greathouse.  In  the  fifteenth  century  he  would  have  been  a 
soldier  of  fortune,  a  Luigi  Sforza  or  a  Braccio  Fortebraccio,  at 
the  head  of  his  free  companions  making  his  arm  felt  on  one  or 
the  other  side  of  every  cause,  boldly  making  war  against  mon- 
archs,  and  hewing  for  himself  a  seat  amongst  the  thrones  of  the 
earth. 

Robert  Greathouse  was  the  natural  and  legitimate  production 
of  the  system  of  African  Slavery  in  America.  His  virtues  were 
the  virtues  of  a  dominant  and  privileged  class.  His  vices  were 
the  vices  of  the  master  of  slaves,  of  the  man  educated  in  the 
belief  that  he  rightfully  held  the  power  of  ruling  and  controlling 
men  as  personal  chattels  —  his  failure  and  fall  was  inevitable 
when  the  foundation  upon  which  these  notions  were  based  was 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  35 

drawn  from  under  him,  as  it  was  drawn  from  under  him  when 
from  any  reason  he  ceased  to  be  the  owner  of  slave  property 
in  sufficient  amounts  to  guaranty  to  him  a  continuance  of  the 
lordly  relationship,  whether  it  proceeded  from  his  own  poverty 
or  the  total  destruction  of  the  system  under  which  slaves  were 
held — either  cause  was  sufficient  to  ruin  the  individual.  For 
the  slave-owner  like  the  slave  is  generally  rendered  by  educa 
tion  unfit  for  any  other  condition  than  that  in  which  his  habits 
have  been  created  and  moulded  into  form ;  both  are  compari- 
tively  helpless  when  withdrawn  and  placed  in  a  different  condi 
tion —  but  the  master  is  the  greatest  sufferer,  and  is  usually 
more  helpless  than  is  the  slave.  The  slave  at  least  does  not 
feel  disgraced  when  compelled  to  labor.  With  the  destruction 
of  slavery,  the  class  of  which  Robert  Greathouse  was  a  type 
will  rapidly  disappear.  The  generation  now  passing  will  see  — 
perhaps  has  already  seen  —  the  last  of  them. 

By  nine  o'clock  the  stage-coach  was  slowly  toiling  up  the 
Sierra  Nevada,  and  Mr.  Graham  was  too  much  absorbed  in 
contemplating  the  scene,  to  note  the  conversation  that  was 
going  on  around  him. 

The  narrow  grade,  rudely  and  hastily  dug  out  of  the  face  of 
the  mountain,  was  just  wide  enough  to  hold  the  stage-coach; 
places  being  prepared  at  convenient  intervals  for  meeting  and 
passing  wagons.  Looking  up  to  the  right,  the  eye  followed 
an  unbroken  line  of  pine  forest,  as  it  mounted  higher  and  higher, 
till  the  one  of  vegetation  was  passed,  and  then  still  mounting  till 
the  bold  and  barren  rocks  of  the  summit  disappeared  in  the 
clouds.  Huge  boulders  lay  scattered  loosely  over  the  surface 
of  the  mountain-face,  and  with  such  faint  hold  upon  the  earth, 
that  it  seemed  as  if  a  breath  of  air  would  alone  suffice  to  detach 
them  and  send  them  rolling  and  plunging  down  upon  the  frail 
wagon  that  was  jolting  along  beneath. 

Close  to  the  narrow  road  immense  pine-trees  stood  .like 
giants  breasting  the  onslaught  of  the  rocks,  and  Mr.  Graham 
could  not  help  looking  first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other,  as  if 
to  make  a  mental  estimate  of  the  opposing  forces :  could  the 
protecting  forest  resist  the  threatened  weight,  and  so  let  him 
pass  safely  on  his  journey?  But  he  could  not  but  feel  that 
huge  as  was  this  line  of  sentinels,  the  rocks  were  so  vast  that 
once  started  on  their  downward  career  nothing  could  stop  their 
irresistible  progress  but  the  valley  on  his  left,  two  thousand  feet 
below,  where  in  fact  lay  already  many  a  monster  that  had  made 
the  same  victorious  progress  through  or  over  the  ranks  of  skir- 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE* 


mishing  pines.  Down  upon  these,  so  abrupt  was  the  mountain 
side  and  so  narrow  the  road,  Mr.  Graham  could  from  his  seat  on 
the  driver's  left  have,  easily  pitched  a  stick  or  a  bit  of  stone. 

Far  off  to  the  left,  carpeted  with  everlasting  verdure,  through 
the  centre  of  which  its  own  clear  and  sparkling  river  like  a  silver 
film  could  be  traced  from  end  to  end  and  set  in  the  pine-clad 
Sierras  as  in  a  dark-green  frame.  Carson  Valley  was  spread  out 
like  a  splendid  picture  of  Salvator  Rosa  lying  on  its  back. 

At  last  the  summit  was  reached,  and  the  view  of  the  valley 
and  the  distant  mountains  was  lost,  the  road  plunging  directly 
into  the  pine  forest. 

An  active  conversation  was  going  on  between  Greathouse  and 
the  driver,  with  an  occasional  word  from  Mr.  Withergreen.  Mr. 
Graham,  as  we  have  before  mentioned,  had  never  met  Great- 
house  until  that  morning,  and  was  surprised  to  observe  the 
quiet  and  gentle  manner  of  the  man,  so  strongly  in  contrast 
with  his  reputation,  and  especially  with  the  title  of  odious  dis 
tinction  which  had  been  added  to  his  name.  There  was  noth 
ing  of  the  nature  of  bluster  about  him.  Every  gesture,  every 
word,  seemed  to  imply  a  consciousness  of  a  fund  of  irresist 
ible  strength  behind,  that  could  not  fail  of  respect  from  all 
that  were  in  his  presence.  And  with  good  ground,  for  Bob 
Greathouse  was  physically  as  formidable  as  his  name  was  awe- 
inspiring.  Full  six  feet  and  three  inches  in  stature,  he  was 
built  in  perfect  proportion,  and  his  long,  elastic  stride  seemed  to 
spurn  the  earth  with  the  fulness  of  his  power.  He  was  dressed 
in  a  gray  sack-coat  with  side  pockets.  His  trowsers  were 
tucked  into  his  high  boots,  and  his  head  was  covered  with  the 
immense  broad-brimmed  hat  so  universally  worn  by  Southerners 
of  the  period.  Unlike  most  travellers  in  the  mountain,  he  lacked 
the  belt  and  six-shooter,  so  much  in  use.  The  stigma  of  mur 
derer  had  been  attached  to  his  name  by  the  public  by  common 
consent,  but  the  expression  was  never  used  in  his  presence.  Col 
onel  Greathouse  he  was  called  by  his  friends,  a  title  which  he 
had  gained  on  the  borders  of  Texas,  while  in  command  of  a 
regiment  of  rangers.  He  did  not  like,  as  can  be  easily  imag 
ined,  the  odious  distinction  that  in  Washoe  had  taken  its  place, 
and  it  was  not  thought  to  be  wholly  safe  to  refer  to  it  within 
his  hearing. 

Withergreen  had  been  conversing  freely  with  him  as  they 
came  towards  the  summit,  until  at  last  in  a  burst  of  familiarity 
he  spoke  in  some  manner  of  the  addition  to  Greathouse'  s  name. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  37 

*'I  have  not  heard  you  called  colonel  t>efore,"  he  said,  "but 
by  quite  another  title.'"' 

Greathouse  understood  the  allusion,  and  his  brow  was 
clouded. 

"  I  know,  sir,  what  you  mean.  Some  people  call  me  Bob 
Greathouse,  the  murderer,  but  they  are  sneaks  and  mean  Yan 
kees  that  do  it.  Gentlemen  give  me  my  title  that  I  have  earned 
in  the  rangers.  But  even  the  Yankees  don't  call  me  that  to  my 
face." 

This  he  said  fiercely,  but  not  loudly  ;  the  low  notes  of  the 
human  voice  are  always  the  most  impressive. 

Withergreen  turned  pale,  and  offered  an  apology. 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  Bob.  "  I  do  not  find  fault 
with  you  about  it.  You  don't  know  me,  and  only  speak  what 
you  have  heard." 

Then  he  went  on  in  a  quiet  explanatory  tone.  "  It  is  true 
I  have  killed  some  men  in  my  life.  One  time  or  another  I've 
killed  a  good  many  men,  and  I've  been  pretty  nearly  killed 
myself,  not  once,  but  a  good  many  times.  I  was  bom  a  gen 
tleman,  and  I  shall  die  one,  when  I  do  die.  But  I'm  "not 
any  more  anxious  to  die  just  now  than  any  other  man.  My 
father  was  a  gentleman  before  me,  but  not  a  poor  gentleman,  as 
I  am.  He  had  everything  that  a  gentleman  wants,  without  hav 
ing  to  stew,  and  fret,  and  fight  his  way  along  a  God-forsaken 
country,  filled  with  a  nest  of  mean  sneaks  and  Yankees,  as  this 
is.  My  father  lived  in  Old  Virginia.  He  had  land,  and  horses, 
and  dogs,  and  niggers,  and  he  had  plenty  of  them,  and  he  had 
friends.  Perhaps  it  would  not  be  out  of  place  to  say  that  he 
had  cards,  for  he  certainly  did  have  them.  The  land  and  nig 
gers  He  lost  on  the  horses.  Then  he  sold  the  horses  for  money, 
and  lost  the  money  on  the  cards.  Then  he  lost  the  friends,  but 
whether  on  the  horses  or  on  the  cards  I  never  exactly  knew." 

This  Bob  said  with  a  grim  smile,  and  he  continued,  — 

"The  dogs  remained  true  to  him  —  dogs  always  do  —  and  he 
took  them  to  Texas,  and  died  as  he  had  lived,  a  gentleman.  He 
left  me  his  principles  of  honor  and  fair  dealing,  and  his  arms  to  en 
force  them,  and  nothing  else,  for  he  had  nothing  else  to  leave.  I 
came  out  here  to  try  to  get  an  honest  living,  and  that's  all  I 
want.  I'm  no  Yankee  nor  sneak,  and  so  I"  can't  trade,  npr  ^ ' 
cheat,  nor  lie.  I'm  not  a  free  nigger,  nor  poor  white  trash,  but 
I'm  a  gentleman,  and  don't  know  how  to  work,  and  I'm  not 
sure  that  I'd  do  it  if  I  did  know.  I'm  not  a  lawyer  nor  a  doc 
tor,  for  I.  was  brought  up  in  Texas,  where  there  were  no  schools. 


33  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

Besides,  I  was  wild,  and  maybe  I  wouldn't  have  gone  to  them, 
if  there  had  been  any.  Here  is  Jack  Gowdy's  business  is  an 
honorable  calling,  but  I  can't  drive  horses.  I  don't  know  how. 
Now,  sir,  what  is  there  in  this  country  for  a  gentleman  to  do  ?  " 

This  he  said  raising  his  voice  inquiringly,  and  looking  alter 
nately  in  the  face  of  each  of  his  listeners.  No  one  answered, 
and  he  continued  as  if  he  did  not  expect  it,  — 

"Nothing.  There  is  nothing  that  he  can  do  except  play 
cards." 

He  paused  for  an  instant  as  if  to  see  whether  that  simple 
fact,  could  be  controverted,  and  finding,  as  he  expected,  that  it 
was  too  self-evident  to  meet  with  doubt,  he  went  on,  — 

"And  that's  what  I  do,  gentlemen.  I  play  cards  for  a  living. 
When  I  lose  I  pay,  and  when  I  win  I  expect  to  be  paid.  It's 
not  my  fault  if  the  mean  sneaks  and  Yankees  that  govern  this 
country  won't  let  the  law  collect  gambling  debts.  They  make 
the  law  to  suit  themselves.  It  takes  care  of  their  interests. 
You  owe  one  of  them  for  a  meal's  vituals,  a  bowie-knife,  a  pack 
of  cards,  or  any  other  necessary  article,  and  see  how  quick  he'll 
have  the  sheriff  after  you,  if  you  don't  pay.  But  they'll  let  a  man 
play  poker  with  me  all  night  and  take  my  money  while  I  lose, 
but  if  I  happen  to  win  a  dollar,  he'll  snap  his  fingers  in  my  face, 
and  I  may  starve  to  death  for  all  the  good  these  Yankee  courts 
will  do  me.  Why,  sir,  when  I  first  came  to  this  country,  I  was 
on  the  South  Fork  of  Feather  River.  One  night  I  had  a  bad 
run  of  luck  playing  poker  with  a  fellow  of  the  name  of  Kentuck, 
and  before  morning  I  lost  eighteen  hundred  dollars,  and  I  did 
not  have  a  cent  to  pay  it  with.  Did  I  repudiate  that  debt  ?  " 

Here  he  again  looked  inquiringly  into  the  face  of  each  of  the 
listeners,  as  if  seeking  for  an  answer.  None  came,  and  he  went 
on,— 

"No,  I  went  to  work  in  Kentuck' s  creek  claim,  with  the 
water  up  to  my  waist,  to  work  it  out  at  five  dollars  a  day.  Was 
there  any  Yankee  trick  about  that  ?  They  had  a  bankrupt  law 
in  California  then,  the  same  as  they  have  here  in  Washoe  now. 
And  it  was  just  as  good  for  me  as  it  was  for  the  Yankee  that 
made  it.  I  had  never  done  a  day's  work  before  in  my  life,  and 
it  was  rough,  I  tell  you." 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  39 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    COSMODENTAL   HOTEL. 

TWENTY-FOUR  hours  after  the  arrival  of  Jack  Goudy's  ftage 
at  Folsom,  as  detailed  in  the  last  chapter,  three  ladies  were 
sitting  in  Mrs.  Graham's  parlor,  at  the  Cosmodental  Hotel  in 
San  Francisco.  Two  of  them  are  already  known  to  the  reader  ; 
they  were  Matilda  Graham,  and  Helen,  her  daughter.  These 
two  were  sitting  by  the  open  window,  impatiently  awaiting  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Graham  from  Sacramento.  The  third  was  en 
deavoring  to  temper  their  impatience,  and  to  keep  them  com 
pany.  She  had  dropped  in  from  her  own  apartments  in  the 
same  hotel,  which  were  adjoining,  and  declared  that  she  wanted 
to  see  the  "  Governor,"  for  so  she  irreverently  called  him,  as 
badly  as  either  of  the  others,  and  that  though  she  had  never 
seen  the  old  "  covey,"  she  would  stay  and  get  the  first  kiss  if 
she  could. 

She  was  somewhat  the  senior  of  Helen,  being  at  the  time 
of  which  we  write,  about  two-and-twenty.  Her  complexion 
was  fair,  approaching  a  blonde,  but  not  quite  up  to  the  mark, 
with  bright,  sparkling,  blue  eyes,  and  a  laughing,  kissable  mouth. 
Her  figure  was  neither  tall  nor  short,  but  compact  and  plump. 
In  fine,  Blanch  Mclver  was  as  perfect  a  type  of  a  pretty,  charm 
ing,  and  lovable  woman,  as  was  Helen  Graham  of  a  beautiful, 
graceful,  and  elegant  one. 

"Oh!  isn't  it  jolly,"  she  cried;  "the  Governor  is  coming 
home.  Here  you  have  been  for  two  years  moping  in  the 
chimney-corner  like  a  pair  of  superannuated  nuns  in  a  cloister, 
never  stirring  out,  winter  or  summer,  till  poor  Helen  is  getting 
to  be  as  sallow  and  bilious  as  an  old  maid  fed  on  vinegar  and 
slate-pencils.  She  begins  to  look  like  a  '  biled  owl.'  Won't  I 
make  you  fly  around  when  the  old  fellow  gets  home  ?  " 

"  Blanche,"  said  Helen,  reprovingly,  "  how  can  you  call  my 
dear  father  such  names  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  young  fellow,  if  you  like  it  better.  But  go  out 
you  must,  now  that  he  has  come,  if  f  die  for  it." 

Just  then  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  street  door,  and  all  the 
ladies  jumped  out  of  their  seats,  and  rushed  ii 


40  ROBERT   GREATIIOUSE. 

Here  ( Matilda  and  Helen  seeing  the  usual  crowds  of  people 
lounging  about  the  corridors  and  landings,  stopped  to  wait 
decorously  for  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Graham.  Not  so  Blanche, 
but,  with  a  musical  laugh,  she  sped  along  the  hall  and  down  the! 
steps  at  the  top  of  her  speed.  Half-way  down  the  stairs  she 
met  a  handsome,  middle-aged  gentleman,  into  whose  arms  she 
flew  at  a  guess,  covering  his  cheeks  with  kisses. 

Fortunately  it  proved  to  be  Mr.  Graham,  who,  taken  by 
surprise,  imagined  it  was  his  daughter  who  had  made  this 
sudden  attack  upon  him. 

"  It's-  not  Helen,"  she  shouted  in  great  glee,  "  it's  only  I, 
Blanche  ;  have  you  not  heard  of  me,  Blanche  Mclver  ?" 

Mr.  Graham  had  heard  of  her  and  corrected  his  mistake. 
At  the  top  of  the  stairs  he  met  Matilda  and  Helen,  and  pressed 
them  to  his  heart  The  mother  strove  hard  to  conceal  her 
emotion,  but  long-continued  struggles  against  a  severe  fate, 
with  hope  deferred,  was  beginning  to  wear  upon  her,  and  it 
was  long  after  they  reached  the  parlor  before  all  of  them  to 
gether  could  subdue  her  hysterical  sobs  and  restore  her  calm 
ness. 

"  Oh,  Edmund,"  she  said,  "  you  have  been  away  so  long  — 
so  long." 

Blanche  would  have  left  them  alone,  for  with  all  her  wildness 
of  spirit  and  love  of  fun,  she  possessed  a  pure  and  delicate  na 
ture,  that  would  not  permit  her  to  intrude  herself  upon  the 
family  at  such  a  time.  But  Helen  would  not  let  her  go  till  she 
had  been  introduced  and  had  got  acquainted  with  her  dear 
father. 

_ "  Oh,  papa,"  she  said,  "  Blanche  is  the  dearest,  the  sweetest 
friend  I  have  in  the  world.  Without  her  true  heart  I  do  not, 
know  what  we  should  have  done  during  all  your  dreary,  soul- 
wearying  absence.  She  has  been  our  friend,  our  counsellor,  and 
our  comforter.  You  must  not  judge  her  by  her  manner,  dear 
father,"  so  she  said  privately  to  him.  "She  is  not  frivolous, 
but  is  as  true  as  truth  itself.  We  all  love  her  dearly,  and  wish 
you  to  love  her  as  much  as  we  do.  You  will,  will  you  not  ?  " 

Mr.  Graham  was  sure  he  would,  an  1  as  she  rose  to  go,  bade 
her  kindly  good-night. 

Helen  went  with  her  to  her  own  parlor-door,  and  Mr.  Gra 
ham,  as  he  looked  after  them,  walking  in  the  hall,  with  their 
arms  about  each  other's  waists,  and  saw  the  commanding  height 
and  splendid  beauty  of  his  daughter,  again  felt  the  old  feeling 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  41 

of  dread  coming  over  him,  as  to  the  future  of  his  precious  but 
dangerously  beautiful  child. 

Mr.  Graham  had  known  of  Helen's  friendship  for  Miss 
Mclver  from  its  commencement,  in  common  with  all  the  ac 
quaintances  formed  by  his  wife  and  daughter.  He  now  learned 
all  that  was  necessary  to  know  of  her  and  her  family.  Her 
father,  Colonel  Mclver,  was  an  officer  in  the  army,  a  gentle 
man  of  superior  education,  possessing  elegant  manners  and 
polished  bearing.  Mrs.  Mclver  was  a  lady  worthy  in  all  re 
spects  of  such  a  union.  They  had  lived  in  San  Francisco 
since  its  earliest  settlement  by  the  Americans,  and  conse 
quently  from  a  time  when  Blanche,  their  only  child,  was  an 
infant.  This  young  lady  had  therefore  been  brought  up  in  the 
metropolis  of  the  Pacific.  The  only  daughter  of  such  parents, 
it  is  needless  to  say  that  every  opportunity  for  instruction  that 
money  could  command,  or  the  country  afford,  was  lavished 
upon  her.  These  opportunities  were  not  wasted  upon  Blanche, 
but  were  as  seed  scattered  upon  a  fruitful  soil,  and  at  the  time 
when  our  story  commences,  she  was  one  of  the  most  thoroughly 
accomplished  young  ladies  in  a  city  that  has  no  lack  of  intelli 
gence  and  refinement. 

But  the  first  years  of  her  youth  had  been  spent  in  San  Fran 
cisco,  at  a  time  when  it  was  growing  up,  and  especially  at  a 
period  when  the  male  population  outnumbered  the  female.  As 
a  consequence,  the  few  ladies  of  beauty  and  culture  in  the 
young  city  were  more  observed  and  received  more  attention 
from  the  resident  citizens  than  would  have  occurred  under 
other  circumstances.  From  her  earliest  youth,  the  beauty  and 
vivacious  temper  of  little  Blanche  had  attracted  the  notice  of 
residents  of  the  town,  and  she  became  a  universal  and  extraor 
dinary  favorite  with  all  classes  of  people.  This  constant  ova 
tion  naturally,  in  time,  had  its  effect  upon  Blanche's  manner, 
and  at  eighteen  she  was,  as  might  have  been  expected,  an  odd 
mixture  of  the  elegant  and  polished  lady,  and  the  fast,  or  at 
times  almost  flashing  girl  of  the  period,  either  of  which  charac 
ters  she  played  with  equal  ease,  shifting  from  one  to  the  other 
at  pleasure. 

At  about  that  age  she  was  taken  abroad,  visiting  the  prin 
cipal  capitals  of  Europe,  and  was  presented  at  most  of  the 
foreign  courts.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  she  created  a  sensa 
tion.  She  spoke  most  modern  languages  with  perfect  famil 
iarity.  Her  beauty,  her  wit,  and  especially  her  brilliant  repartee, 
to  say  nothing  of  a  reputation  for  the  possession  of  a  consider- 


42  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

able  fortune,  made  her  always  the  centre  of  an  admiring,  if  not 
astonished,  circle. 

"  La  belle  Americaine"  was  the  admiration  of  the  salons  of 
Paris,  and  for  more  than  one  winter  was  a  brilliant  star  in  the 
bright  firmament  of  the  Palais  des  Tuileries,  and  the  envy  of 
many  a  proud  beauty,  who  was  not  content  to  surpass  her  in 
conventional  rank  alone. 

At  the  time  the  Grahams  took  up  their  residence  at  the 
Cosmodental  Hotel,  Blanche  had  just  returned  from  Europe. 
Her  father  had  settled  his  family  in  rooms  upon  the  same  floor, 
and  adjoining  those  of  Matilda  and  Helen.  It  is  unnecessary 
to  relate  how  an  acquaintance  sprung  up  between  two  young 
girls  so  situated,  and  how  that  ripened  into  an  enduring  friend 
ship.  It  would  only  have  been  strange  had  it  not  occurred. 
Mr.  Graham  soon  saw  that  the  fears  of  Blanche  for  her  mother's 
hea.lth  had  not  been  unfounded.  Long-continued  confinement 
within  doors,  that  fearful  vice  of  American  hotel-life,  together 
with  constant  anxiety,  had  already  made  sad  inroads  on  the 
health  of  Matilda.  But  now  that  was  all  past  and  gone.  She 
would  return  to  the  mountains  of  Washoe  with  him.  She 
would  see  her  idol  every  day.  The  mountain  air  would  restore 
her.  She  counted  the  days  and  the  hours  that  still  lay  between 
her  and  her  new  home.  The  hotel  at  Virginia  City,  in  which 
rooms  had  been  engaged,  was  not  completed,  and  three  weeks 
must  elapse  before  they  could  go.  So  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  wait,  a  hard  thing  for  Mr.  Graham  to  do,  for  his  heart  was 
in  the  mine,  and  he  wanted  to  be  with  it. 

But  Blanche  Mclver,  who  spent  more  time  in  the  Grahams' 
apartments  than  in  her  own,  undertook  to  make  him  forget  the 
time.     She  would  tell  him  all  the  scandal  of  the  hotel,  she  said,  •. 
and  that  would  be  enough,  if  he  attended  to  it,  to  occupy  his  * 
mind  for  three  years,  if  he  wanted  to  stay  so  long.     First  she 
would  tell  him  the  history  of  the  people  in  the  house. 

"  Come  out  in  the  hall,"  she  said,  "  and  I'll  commence  with 
a  preliminary  lesson  in  geography,  history,  and  biography  as  a 
foundation." 

This  was  a  few  mornings  after  Mr.  Graham's  arrival  from 
Washoe.  The  apartments  next  to  her  father's,  she  proceeded 
to  inform  him,  No.  54,  were  occupied  by  the  Gudgeon  family, 
consisting  of  Ebenezer  Gudgeon  and  wife,  and  a  grown-up  son, 
xejoicing  in  the  historical  name  of  Vanderbilt.  The  Gudgeons 
were  originally  from  a  city  upon  the  Atlantic  sea-board,  where 
old  Gudgeon,  failing  in  some  sort  of  small  trade,  flanked  his 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  43 

creditors,  and  got  away  to  California.  Here  he  had  made  a 
fortune,  had  been  to  Paris,  had  lived  at  the  GraiK  Hotel, 
driven  a  Remise  carriage  in  the  "  Bois  de  Boulogne,"  and  was 
now  back  at  his  old  quarters  at  the  Cosmodental,  retrenching 
for  a  time,  preparatory  to  a  fresh  flight  abroad. 

The  son,  Vanderbilt,  she  assured  Mr.  Graham,  was  the  most 
hateful,  disagreeable,  odious,  disgusting  flunkey  that  had  ever 
stared  a  lady  out  of  countenance.  Most  people,  she  said,  had 
wholly  failed  to  make  out  which  of  the  two  was  the  most  hate 
ful  and  vulgar  —  the  father  or  the  son.  For  her  part,  she  had 
no  difficulty  in  deciding  that  it  was  the  son,  for  whatever  fault 
Ebenezer  Gudgeon,  the  father,  possessed,  at  least  he  was  not 
engaged  to  be  married  to  her,  and  his  son  was.  It  was  that 
disgusting  fact  that  constituted  the  difference,  and  decided  her 
opinion.  Mr.  Graham  was  amazed  at  this  statement  of  Blanche. 
"Ah!"  she  cried,  "it's  all  the  doings  of  that  odious  old 
Gudgeon.  He  is  dying  to  marry  his  son  to  some  girl  with  a 
fortune,  so  that  he  will  not  have  him  to  support,  and  the  gifted 
youth  is  as  anxious  as  his  father.  They  have  persuaded  my 
father  and  mother  around  to  their  side,  and  I  gave  my  con 
sent  to  keep  peace  in  the  family. 

"The  room  next  to  Gudgeon's,  is  occupied  by  a  new  comer, 
a  Mr.  Henry  Stacey,  who  comes  well  introduced  from  Ohio,  and 
is  to  make  his  home  with  us.  I  am  a  little  afraid  of  him,  he  is 
so  good-looking.  I  fear  that  he  is  almost  too  handsome  to  be 
of  much  force.  Still,  time  will  tell.  He  is  a  lawyer,  and  if  he 
does  not  prove  to  be  too  honest  —  (here  Blanche  assumed  a  tone 
of  irony) — he  may  succeed.  I  have  already  introduced  him  to 
Helen,  who,  poor  soul,  would  stay  in  the  house  a  century  with 
out  an  acquaintance  if  left  to  herself.  Mr.  Stacey  is  timid  at 
all  times — a  bad  quality  for  a  lawyer — and  is  especially  shy  of 
the  ladies.  He  don't  come  about  our  rooms  as  often  as  we 
would  really  be  willing  to  see  him,  for  his  bashful  good-sense  is 
at  times  a  wonderful  relief  after  the  surfeit  of  brazen  chaff  and 
twaddle  that  is  showered  upon  us  by  the  fashionable  mutton- 
heads  that  hang  about  the  hotel.  I  sometimes  think  that  he 
admires  her,  but  girls,  you  know,  are  always  imagining  some  such 
thing  as  that." 

While    Blanche  was  still    speaking,  a   young  gentleman  of 
apparently  three-and-twenty,  came  around  the  corner  from  the 
landing-place,  and  walked  hastily  along  the  hall  towards  them. 
"Speak  of  the  devil,"  she  whispered  ;  "  here  he  is  now.  Good- 
morning,  Mr.  Stacey;  how  do  you  do?" 


44  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"This  is  Mr.  Graham,  the  father  of  our  dear  Helen. 
You  must  know  each  other." 

The  gentlemen  shook  hands  cordially.  The  young  one 
stammered  something  about  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  meeting 
Miss  Graham's  father,  but  it  was  not  very  clearly  made  out. 

The  door  of  Mr.  Graham's  apartment  had  stood  open  all 
the  time  that  Blanche  was  instructing  him  in  the  geography  and 
history  of  the  hotel. 

"  Come  in,  Mr.  Stacey,  and  sit  down,"  he  said,  at  the  same 
time  taking  Blanche's  hand  and  drawing  her  with  him.  They 
walked  in  and  took  seats.  The  ladies  were  in  their  bed  rooms, 
but  Matilda,  hearing  the  conversation,  came  in,  and  seeing  who 
was  present,  called  Helen.  "  Good-morning,  Mr.  Stacey," 
she  said,  with  a  smile,  and  an  easy  and  graceful  inclination. 

Mr.  Graham  was  jealously  watching  the  interview.  He  had 
not  forgotten  the  remark  Blanche  had  let  fall  about  his  sup 
posed  admiration  for  Helen.  He  was  not  more  suspicious 
than  are  all  fathers,  or  perhaps,  even  men  who  are  not  fathers. 
This  was  a  man  who  was  addressing  his  daughter,  and  that  was 
enough  to  excite  a  certain  degree  of  hostility.  The  first  meet 
ing  of  men  in  the  presence  of  woman  is  always  a  hostile  one. 
As  two  bulls  in  a  field  commence  to  roar  and  paw  the  earth  at 
first  sight  of  each  other,  so  would  gentlemen  do  but  for  the 
humanizing  influence  of  civilization.  Let  them  bow  and  smile 
as  much  as  they  will,  in  their  hearts  they  hate  each  other. 
This  is  the  remains  of  the  old  savage  still  left  in  us.  As  young 
setters,  the  most  civilized  of  dogs,  in  their  first  year  carry  away 
and  bury  in  the  ground  all  the  bones  and  old  boots  and  bits 
of  leather  they  can  find,  the  result  of  a  not-wholly-forgotten 
instinct  of  saving  against  a  rainy  day,  transmitted  to  them  froni 
their  wolfish  progenitors,  and  in  spite  of  centuries  of  skilful 
training  and  cross-breeding,  so  does  the  male  of  the  human 
species  feel  the  old  savage  stir  in  him  at  the  sight  of  a  man 
whom  he  suspects  to  be  looking,  with  no  matter  how  innocent 
an  admiration,  at  his  women. 

But  Mr.  Graham,  look  as  sharply  as  he  would,  could  find  no 
fault  with  the  conduct  of  either  party  this  time.  Helens  man 
ner  was  simply  that  of  the  thoroughly  refined  and  modest  lady, 
who  meets  a  gentleman  of  good  position  and  breeding.  She 
was  kind  and  even  cordial.  Mr.  Stacey' s  manner  was  natural, 
and  therefore  difficult  to  fathom.  It  was  consistent  with 
almost  any  theory. 

The  suspicion  that  Blanche  had  let  drop,  that  Mr.  Stacey  ad- 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  45 

mired  Helen,  had  put  Mr.  Graham  on  the  watch.     While  he 
was  still  thinking  of  it,  a  bell-boy  came  in  with  a  card. 

"Show  the  gentleman  in,"  said  Matilda,  after  reading  the 


name. 


In  another  moment  the  door  again  opened,  and  a  fashionably- 
dressed  young  gentleman  entered  the  room.  He  was  about 
twenty-five  years  old,  of  good  carriage,  and  saving  that  his  face 
was  shaved  in  such  a  manner  as  to  leave  no  beard  excepting 
only  a  heavy  brown  moustache,  the  weight  of  which  pulled  it 
down  quite  below  the  chin,  together  with  a  long  goatee  or  impe 
rial  of  the  same  dull  color,  imparting  to  the  features  a  heavy, 
sinister  expression,  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon  would  have  passed 
anywhere  for  a  very  handsome  young  gentleman. 
"  Voila  ma  bete  noire"  whispered  Blanche  to  Helen. 
The  young  gentleman  was  introduced  -to  Helen's  father,  and 
took  a  seat,  hat  in  hand.  He  had  called  to  ask  the  ladies  to 
take  part  in  a  visit  to  the  Cliff  House  and  the  Ocean  Beach, 
which  was  arranged,  he  said,  for  the  following  day.  A  ship 
had  been  wrecked  on  the  shore  the  day  before,  and  was  now  be 
ing  broken  up  by  the  surf.  Would  Mr.  Graham  go  ?  and  would 
the  ladies  go  as  well  ? 

Mr.  Graham,  after  a  moment's  consultation,  signified  that  they 
would  be  happy  to  take  part  in  the  excursion. 

Mr.  Stacey  had  not  been  invited,  nor,  indeed,  had  he  been 
scarcely  so  much  as  spoken  to  by  the  young  gentleman,  who 
having  finished  his  visit  was  on  the  point  of  leaving. 

Turning  to  Blanche  as  if  he  had  just  thought  of  it,  he  said, — 
"  Oh,  of  course  you'll  go." 
"  Of  course  I  won't  go,"  she  answered  sharply. 
"Blanche,"  cried  Helen,  "you  must  go.     I  would  not  have 
promised  had  I  not  expected  you  to  be  of  the  party." 

All  the  Grahams  joined  in  the  prayer  to  the  young  lady  ;  but 
no,  she  would  not  go  a  step. 

Helen  at  last  turned  to  Mr.  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon,  who  all  the 
while  had  been  an  apparently  indifferent  listener  to  the  conver 
sation. 

"This  is  a  new  turn  to  the  affair,  Mr.  Gudgeon.  If  Blanche 
will  not  go,  you  must  allow  me  to  withdraw  my  acceptance  of 
the  invitation." 

He  turned  almost  fiercely  towards  Blanche. 
"Why  will  you  not  go,  Miss?"  he  demanded  harshly. 
"  I  don't  like  the  company,"  she  answered  with  a  pouting  look. 
"I  have  not  been  consulted,  and  I  don't  like  it." 


46  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"To  whom  do  you  object?" 

^  "I  don't  object  to  anybody.  My  cavalier  has  not  been  in- 
vited,  and  I  won't  go  without  him." 

"  Your  cavalier  !  who  is  he  ?  I  thought  I  was  your  cavalier. 
I  ought  to  be,  I  am  sure,  if  I  am  to  be  your  husband." 

"Perhaps  you  ought  to  be.     I  shall  not  dispute  that  with 
you  ;  but  you  are  not,  or  at  least  not  yet." 
"Whom  do  you  wish  to  have  invited?" 
"I  wish  to  have  Mr.  Stacey  invited." 
"Mr.  Stacey!" 

All  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  poor  young  gentleman,  who 
blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

^  "Why,  I  did  invite  him,"  at  last  grumbled  Mr.  Vanderbilt 
Gudgeon,  his  brown  moustache  dropping  so  low  as  to  resemble 
a  brace  of  sardines,  too  long  caught,  "or  at  least  I  intended  to 
do  so." 

"  Oh  !  did  you  ?"  cried  Blanche,  with  affected  gayety  of  man 
ner,  "I  am  so  glad.  Then  you  will  go,  dear  Mr.  Stacey.  Oh  ! 
you  must  go." 

Vanderbilt  now  began  to  draw  the  ends  of  his  moustache  into 
his  mouth,  and  to  bite  them. 

Mr.  Stacey  really  was  thankful  for  the  invitation,  but  business 
engagements — it  was  — it  was  motion  day  in  court,  and  he  did 
not  see  how  he  could  leave  town. 

Blanche  stopped  him  in  the  middle  of  his  apology. 
"There,  there,  that's  enough  of  that  sort  of  gammon;  if  you 
won't  go,  then  I  won't,  and  then  Helen  won't.  So  ypu  see 
you'll  break  up  the  party.  Come  along,  then,  and  don't  tell  me 
your  stories  about  court  days,  when  we  all  know  you  haven't 
had  a  brief  in  the  country."  This  was  cutting  so  very  close  tol« 
the  truth,  that  Blanche  felt  the  delicacy  of  the  ground,  and  added, 
"for  of  course  how  could  you,  when  you  have  only  been  here 
so  short  a  time  ?  Now,  that  matter  is  settled,"  she  went  on. 
without  waiting  to  hear  either  his  acceptance  or  his  refusal,' 
"let  us  sit  down  and  see  what  Vanderbilt  has  to  tell  us  that  is 
new.  Come,  Vanderbilt,  '  squat.'  We  all  know  that  you  are 
not  in  such  a  hurry  as  you  pretend  to  be.  Tell  us  all  the  scan 
dal."  Addressing  the  others,  she  continued,  "The  finest  trait 
in  my  intended  husband's  character  is  his  thorough  knowledge 
of  the  going  scandal.  He  has  the  faculty  of  being  always  post 
ed  up  to  the  latest  moment.  That's  why  I  love  him  so  dearly ; 
isn't  it  Vandy  ?"  she  said,  catching  one  of  his  moustaches,  and 
pulling  it  down  almost  to  his  waist.  "If  ever  I  marry  you,  it 


ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE.  47 

will  be  for  that  lovable  quality  alone.  Come,  now,  go  on.  I 
have  not  seen  my  father  since  breakfast.  Has  the  Governor 
done  anything  disgraceful  in  the  mean  time?"  Turning  to  the 
others,  she  continued  without  stopping,  "If  he  has  picked  a 
pocket,  depend  upon  it  Vanderbilt  can  tell  you  from  whom, 
where  it  occurred ;  if  he  got  a  watch,  the  number,  and  maker's 
name  ;  if  a  purse,  what  it  contained ;  while  if  I  am  the  daughter 
of  a  handkerchief-purloiner,  he  will  tell  you  whether  the  ill  gotten 
'wiper'  was  of  silk,  linen,  cotton,  hemp,  sea-grass,  hair-cloth, 
jute  or  shoddy,  whether  plain  or  figured,  and  the  private  history 
from  the  great-grandfather  downwards  of  the  pawn-broker  from 
whom  the  article  was  traced." 

"Oh!  Blanche,"  said  Mr.  Gudgeon,  laughingly,  for  he  evi 
dently  felt  flattered  by  what  he  thought  was  a  highly-colored 
statement  of  his  intellectual  powers  and  capabilities,  "how 
can  you  go  on  so,  making  game  of  a  fellow." 

But  Blanche  paused  only  to  take  breath. 

"Tell  me  about  that  rich  Washoe  lady  in  No.  106,  that  you 
had  reason  to  suspect  of  a  design  to  elope  with  the  head  waiter. 
Have  they  gone  ?" 

While  this  question  was  being  asked,  Mr.  Vanderbilt  Gud 
geon  sat  down,  evidently  treating  the  matter  as  serious,  and 
willing  to  avail  himself  of  so  fine  an  opportunity  to  show  his 
wonderful  powers. 

"No,"  he  answered,  looking  about  at  each  of  the  company  in 
turn,  and  drawing  down  his  moustache  till  his  shirt-front  was 
almost  covered,  "but  it  will  happen  before  three  days,  or  I  am 
no  judge.  I  saw  him  in  her  parlor  yesterday  afternoon,  pre 
tending  to  brush  the  furniture  ;  but  I  am  not  to  be  imposed  upon 
in  that  way,"  he  added  in  a  confidential  tone,  slowly  stroking 
his  moustache  and  imperial.  "You  will  see  that  room  empty 
before  the  week  is  gone."  He  paused  a  moment  to  watch  the 
effect  upon  the  listeners.  "But  it  will  not  be  the  only  empty 
room  on  that  side  of  the  hall.  No.  109  will  want  a  new  occu 
pant  before  long." 

"What  is  the  trouble  there?"  inquired  Blanche,  to  continue 
the  young  man  in  his  story. 

"That  is  the  room  of  Mr.  Solomon  Comet,  president  of  the 
Gold  Dust  and  Bullion  Bank.  He  can't  keep  up  his  style  of  liv 
ing  a  month  longer.  Here  he  has  the  best  rooms  in  the  house  ; 
besides  he  has  his  place  at  Livermore's  Pass,  and  his  cottage  at 
Calistoga.  His  wife  has  two  carriages,  and  they  do  say  that  ho 
keeps  thirteen  horses.  I  can't  speak  positively  just  yet  about 


4:8  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

the  horses ;  but  after  next  week  I'll  know,  for  I  am  going  to 
watch  for  a  chance  and  get  into  his  stables  when  his  groom  is 
away." 

"Ah!"  cried  Blanche,  "that  will  be  so  nice.  Do  it.  Can 
you  be  surprised  that  I  fell  in  love  with  my  Vandy,  Mr.  Gra 
ham,  when  he  is  so  bright  and  so  full  of  enterprise  ?  There  is 
nothing  that  Vanderbilt  cannot  do." 

This  she  said  with  a  tone  of  irony,  perceptible  to  all  but  Mr. 
Gudgeon,  who  was  too  much  engaged  in  stroking  his  moustache 
and  looking  in  the  mirror  across  the  room,  to  heed  anything 
so  intangible  as  sarcasm. 

"Come,  now,  let  us  go,"  she  continued,  rising;  "I  am  sure 
our  friends  are  tired  of  us." 

They  all  protested ;  but  Blanche  would  not  hear  of  their  stay 
ing  longer,  but  dragged  the  gentlemen  away. 

"Good-by  ;  remember  to-morrow  and  the  Ocean  Beach,"  and 
the  door  closed  upon  them. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    COLONY    OF    CASTAWAYS. 

MR.  VANDERBILT  GUDGEON  had  arranged  for  his  party  to 
leave  the  Cosmodental  Hotel  at  twelve  o'clock  ;  so  at  half-past 
eleven  the  ladies  began  to  collect  in  the  hotel-parlor,  while  the 
gentlemen  walked  up  and  down  in  the  halls.  Vanderbilt  was 
himself  there  among  the  first,  and  taking  the  arm  of  Captain 
Plunger,  at  once  began  to  tell  him  the  particulars  of  the  latest 
scandal.  It  appeared  that  the  wife  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Lambkin, 
of  the  Evangelical  Society  of  Reformed  and  Regenerated  Sinners, 
and  who  for  more  than  ten  years  had  borne  an  unexceptional 
character,  turned  out  to  be  the  great-granddaughter  of  a  man 
who  was  •  strongly  suspected  of  being  an  early  associate  of 
Gibbs,  the  pirate. 

Captain  Plunger,  who  took  no  interest  in  such  things,  but  who 
was  an  inveterate  and  untiring  seller  of  mining  shares,  and 
never  lost  a  chance  to  drive  a  trade,  made  a  dozen  ineffectual 
attempt  5  to  get  to  the  end  of  the  story. 


ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE.  49 

"  Oh,  hang  Gibbs,  the  pirate !  "  he  said,  at  last,  becoming 
impatient. 

"That's  just  the  thing,  captain,  he  was  hanged;  and  that's 
what  makes  it  so  unpleasant  for  poor  Mrs.  Lambkin  to  have  the 
thing  come  out.  You  see,  the  great-grandmother  of  Mrs.  Lamb 
kin—  » 

Here  Captain  Plunger  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Graham,  who  was 
just  entering  the  parlor  with  his  wife  and  daughter  ;  and  whisk 
ing  Vanderbilt  around  with  a  jerk,  broke  off  the  thread  of  his 
story. 

"  I  say,  Vandy,  by  George,  did  you  ever  see  anything  like 
that  Miss  Graham  ;  she  is  the  prettiest  woman  in  the  world." 

It  was  seldom  that  Helen  entered  the  public  parlor,  and  her 
striking  beauty  caused  a  great  sensation  in  the  halls  and  corn- 
dors.  The  gentlemen  involuntarily  stopped  walking  up  and 
down,  and  all  gazed  at  her  in  admiration. 

"  What  a  pity  you  are  engaged  to  be  married,  Vandy,"  said 
the  captain;  "there's  a  woman  worth  a  man's  while.  You 
could  have  her,  could  you  not  ?  " 

"  Have  her !  I  should  say  I  could  have  her  for  the  asking. 
Why,  she  has  been  as  good  as  flung  at  my  head  already.  I  go 
there  whenever  I  want  to,  and  you  ought  to  see  how  polite  they 
are." 

"Well,  what's  the  trouble  ?  Won't  Blanche  Mclver  let  you 
off?" 

"  No  ;  she  would  not  consent  to  breaking  our  engagement. 
She  loves  me  too  much  for  that.  But  I  could  manage  her; 
that's  not  the  difficulty." 

"  Then  what  is  it  ?     Governor  poor  ?  " 

Vanderbilt  pulled  his  long  moustache,  and  hinted  that  that 
was  about  the  way  of  it. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Vanderbilt,  "  he  has  been  going  down  in 
that  Graham  mine,  till  he  is  I  don't  know  how  many  hundred 
feet  in  the  earth ;  but  I'm  pretty  sure  he  is  pretty  nearly  at  the 
bottom  of  it,  and  what  is  worse,  he  is  correspondingly  deep  in 
the  books  of  his  creditors  ;  but  no  pay  rock." 

Again  he  stroked  his  beautiful  long  imperial,  and  made  the 
points  of  his  moustache  meet  under  his  chin. 

"All  of  that  may  be,"  said  the  captain,  "but  the  Comstock 
vein  certainly  runs  through  his  ground,  and  he  must  strike  it 
sooner  or  later  ;  and  when  he  does,  he  will  pay  his  debts  with 
the  first  week's  crushing." 

"Yes,"   said    the  other,  doubtingly,   "but  while   the    grass 


50  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

grows  the  horse  dies.  Suppose  he  bursts  up  and  is  sold  out  — 
lock,  stock,  and  barrel — before  he  strikes  it." 

"  Well,  suppose  he  does ;  you  still  have  the  handsomest 
woman  in  America ;  and  if  report  speaks  the  truth,  the  sweetest 
and  the  best." 

"Yes,  and  the  bankrupt  father  and  invalid  mother  on  my 
hands.  No,  I  thank  you,  not  any  for  me.  I  want  to  go  back 
to  Paris.  It  takes  coin  to  live  there.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  No, 
Blanche  has  a  clear  hundred  thousand.  Besides,  old  Graham  is 
still  going  on  with  his  diggings  and  may  strike  it  any  day ;  and 
when  he  does  I  shall  hear  of  it  as  soon  as  anybody.  I  live  on 
the  same  floor,  and  can  always  drop  down  on  her  any  minute." 

At  this  moment  a  stout^heavy-built,  well-dressed  gentleman 
of  fifty  years  of  age,  with  an  air  of  extreme  and  thorough  re 
spectability,  came  down  the  stairs. 

"Ah  !  there's  my  dad,"  said  Vanderbilt;  "I  must  go  and  see 
him  and  get  some  coin,  for  I  haven't  got  a  cent,"  and  he  walked 
towards  the  gentleman  we  have  just  described. 

The  two  were  soon  engaged  in  earnest  conversation,  only  a 
part  of  which  we  shall  record. 

"  You  do  well,  Vandy,"  said  the  father,  "  to  take  her  out  a 
little  and  to  pay  her  some  attention  ;  but  be  very  careful.  Gra 
ham  has  now  got  down,  they  say,  seven  hundred  feet  in  his 
mine,  and  no  silver  as  yet.  That  sort  of  thing  can't  go  on 
long ;  the  next  three  months  will  tell  the  story.  If  he  should 
strike  it,  Helen  will  be  incomparably  the  best  match  you  can 
make.  You  know  to  a  dollar  what  Blanche  has.  It  can  neither 
be  made  more  nor  less.  But  if  Graham  should  find  the  lode,  he 
has  so  managed  his  affairs  by  keeping  the  whole  thing  in  his  own 
hands,  he  will  be  the  richest  man  in  America.  Don't  go  too 
fast,  but  hold  yourself  in  readiness  to  act  promptly  at  any 
time." 

Vanderbilt  expressed  his  appreciation  of  the  wonderful  fore 
sight  and  wisdom  of  his  honored  parent ;  asked  for  and  ob 
tained  an  extra  supply  of  money,  as  a  matter  of  urgent  neces 
sity  considering  the  business  in  hand,  and  returned  to  the  par 
lor  where  all  were  now  waiting  in  readiness  to  depart.  The 
company  had  received  several  additions  since  the  day  before. 
First  there  was  a  double  rockaway.  In  this  Mrs.  Graham  and 
Helen  were  seated  on  the  back  seat,  while  Blanche  sat  in  front 
with  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon,  who  drove.  Then  came  a  second 
rockaway,  driven  by  Captain  Plunger.  In  this  rode  Mr.  Gra 
ham  and  Mrs.  Mclver  on  the  back  seat,  while  Mr.  Stacey  /ode 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  51 

on  the  front  seat  with  Captain  Plunger.  The  rear  was  brought 
up  by  Colonel  Mclver  in  a  single  buggy,  with  a  certain  Mr. 
Bowles,  a  faithful  and  close  friend  of  Vanderbilt's,  whom  he  had 
brought  along  with  the  secret  idea  of  having  some  one  to  take 
Blanche  partially  off  his  hands  while  he  should  pay  court  to 
Helen. 

They  reached  the  beach,  and  drove  up  and  down  for  an 
hour.  This  done,  they  stopped,  and  part  of  the  company  got 
out  for  a  run  on  foot.  Vanderbilt  wished  to  stay  with  the 
young  ladies,  but  he  was  driving  and  must  take  the  carriage  on 
to  the  sheds.  So  only  the  two  young  ladies  remained,  ac 
companied  by  Mr.  Stacey,  Mr.  Bowles,  and  Blanche's  father. 
The  others  drove  on  to  the  house,  where  they  would  wait  till 
the  young  people  could  have  their  romp.  Mr.  Vanderbilt 
Gudgeon  and  Captain  Plunger  would  be  down  upon  the  beach 
almost  as  soon  as  the  others,  so  they  said,  and  then  they  trotted 
away  up  the  hill.  Blanche  was  delighted  beyond  measure  ;  she 
had  seen  all  along  Vanderbilt's  game  of  trying  to  flirt  with  Helen, 
though  that  young  lady  had  never  so  much  as  suspected  it. 
Blanche,  as  will  be  seen,  cared  nothing  for  the  gentleman  to 
whom  she  was  engaged  to  be  married,  and  even  wanted  to  get 
rid  of  him.  But  she  loved  her  friend  too  dearly  to  put  him  upon 
her,  even  had  such  a  thing  been  possible.  She,  therefore,  only 
thought  of  the  pleasure  she  could  obtain  and  enjoy  in  thwart 
ing  his  plans.  She  was  resolved  to  prevent  him  from  being  witn 
Helen.  To  do  this  she  was  willing  to  undergo  the  annoyance 
of  even  having  him  with  herself,  if  it  could  not  be  accom 
plished  otherwise.  So  she  led  the  way  along  the  beach  as 
rapidly  as  she  could  walk,  the  others  following.  She  jumped 
over  the  stones,  she  climbed  the  banks,  and  splashed  through 
the  wet  sand  when  she  came  to  it,  regardless  of  everything  save 
the  one  intent  to  place  as  great  a  distance  as  possible  between 
herself  and  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon.  The  others  kept  along  pretty 
well,  except  her  father,  Colonel  Mclver,  for  after  a  few  min 
utes,  she  looked  around  and  found  him  far  behind.  So  stop 
she  must  —  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

"Dad  was  always  so  slow,"  she  cried  in  her  disappointment. 

At  that  instant  her  eye  fell  upon  a  huge  rock  in  the  sea  to 
the  left,  that  projected  many  feet  above  the  sea-level.  It  was 
at  a  considerable  distance  out  from  shore,  but  it  was  ebb  tide, 
and  at  that  moment  the  sea  had  receded  with  one  of  those  long 
swells  peculiar  to  the  Pacific,  the  result  of  a  vast  sweep  of  water 


52  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

rolling  in  from  away  almost  at  the  antipodes.     In  an  instant 
she  was  shouting,  — 

"  Follow  me,  all  who  are  not  cowards,"  and  scampering  off 
across  the  now  bare  beach  towards  the  rock. 

The  others  had  no  time  to  think,  nor  at  the  moment  did  it 
look  dangerous,  for  the  whole  distance  was  almost  dry,  and  in 
stantly  all  four  were  following  the  mad-cab  girl  at  top  of  speed. 
The  attempt  to  get  upon  it  was  successful,  and  before  the  re 
turn  wave  came  all,  except  Colonel  Mclver,  who  was  still  far  be-" 
hind,  were  safely  mounted  upon  the  rock.  But  their  feat 
proved  to  have  been  not  without  some  danger ;  for,  but  an  in 
stant,  after,  and  while  the  anxious  father  was  still  shouting  to 
them  to  come  back,  the  returning  wave  rolled  in  upon  the 
shore,  roaring  like  another  Niagara,  and  burst  upon  the  sea  side 
of  the  now  island  with  a  noise  like  thunder.  In  an  instant  the 
beach  over  which  they  had  just  passed  was  filled  up  deep 
enough  to  float  a  ship. 

"Whew!"  whistled  Blanche,  comprehending  the  situation 
in  an  instant.  "Are  not  we  in  for  it?  This  is  an  all  night's 
job,  or  I'm  a  Dutchman." 

But  the  affair  was  simply  one  of  detention  and  nothing  more  ; 
they  were  in  a  place  of  safety.  The  great  height  of  the  rock 
forbade  the  idea  of  danger  from  the  returning  tide,  although  the 
flood  was  now  beginning  to  make. 

For  a  few  moments  the  frightened  party  stood  waiting  in  the 
hope  of  a  recession  of  the  water,  like  that  during  which  they 
had  reached  the  rock.  But  it  very  soon  became  obvious  that 
such  would  not  occur  again.  In  the  meantime  they  saw  Van- 
derbilt  Gudgeon  and  Captain  Plunger,  who  had  left  the  car 
riages  and  the  rest  of  the  company  at  the  hotel,  and  were  on 
the  way  to  join  the  young  ladies,  running  at  the  top  of  their 
speed  along  the  beach.  It  was  now  become  certain,  that  while 
there  was  no  danger,  it  was  inevitable  that  they  must  remain 
on  the  rock,  either  till  the  turn  of  the  tide,  or  till  they  could  be 
taken  off  in  some  other  manner.  Blanche  was  literally  in 
ecstacies  of  delight  at  the  success  of  her  mad  feat.  She  ran 
up  and  down  the  rock  shouting,  laughing,  and  gesticulating  to 
the  people  on  the  main  land. 

"  Good-by,"  she  screamed,  "we  are  going  to  found  a  new 
colony.  Good-by  Vanderbilt ;  I  release  you  from  your  engage 
ment  ;  it's  all  off.  We  will  receive  immigrants  in  our  island 
and  treat  them  well,  but  we  have  no  idea  of  returning  to  the 
continent  ourselves.  Come  along  here  in  fifty  years,  and  just 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  53 

see  what  improvements  we  will  have  made,  and  what  a  fine 
country  we  will  possess.  We  will  put  you  all  to  the  blush,  with 
your  old-fashioned  governments  and  institutions." 

Poor  Vanderbilt  was  greatly  chagrined.  His  pleasure  party 
and  all  his  plans  were  completely  upset.  There  was  the  young 
lady  to  whom  he  wished  to  be  attentive,  cast  away  on  an  island 
with  another  gentleman,  and  one  whom  he  already  began  to 
suspect  of  being  a  rival.  But  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
go  about  rescuing  the  young  people  from  their  trying  position 
as  quickly  as  possible.  The  tide  would  not  be  low  enough  for 
them  to  escape  by  walking  on  shore  for  nearly  twelve  hours, 
and  that  would  be  far  into  the  night.  Colonel  Mclver  soon 
settled  the  matter  ;  Captain  Plunger  must  take  one  of  the  car 
riages  and  part  of  the  company,  and  drive  to  the  city  and  send 
out  a  row-boat  to  take  them  off  the  rock.  That  could  be  done 
in  about  four  hours,  and  they  would  consequently  be  out  of 
their  unpleasant  predicament  before  sunset.  In  the  meantime, 
the  father  and  Mr.  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon  would  remain  upon  the 
beach,  and  watch  the  sea  and  the  rock,  to  give  assistance  in 
case  of  any  accidents.  But  there  was  no  danger ;  the  rock  was 
high  and  solid,  the  sea  calm,  and  the  weather  such  as  is  seldom 
seen,  except  upon  the  Pacific  ocean. 

In  front  of  the  spot  where  Helen  and  Mr.  Stacey  sat,  were 
other  and  larger  rocks,  that  rose  a  hundred  feet  or  more  out  of 
the  sea.  These  were  the  homes  of  the  sea-lions.  Those  huge 
monsters  were  lying  about  the  rocks,  literally  in  uncountable 
numbers,  while  the  deep,  hollow  baying  of  the  old  ones,  mingled 
with  the  sharp  yelling  of  the  cubs,  awoke  the  echoes  of  the  hills 
and  vied  with  the  sullen  roar  of  the  breakers.  At  times,  these 
queer  beasts  would  leave  their  resting-places  on  the  rocks  and 
plunge  headlong  into  the  sea,  throwing  the  water  in  mimic 
cataracts  in  every  direction.  Then  they  would  disappear,  but 
only  to  come  up  again  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  where  our  cast 
aways  were  sitting,  and  resting  their  huge  fins  upon  the  edge, 
they  would  gaze  with  their  dull,  watery  eyes  at  the  golden-haired 
girl,  as  if  in  mute  admiration  of  her  beauty. 

Helen's  head-dress,  in  the  climbing  of  the  rocks,  had  come 
down  in  hopeless  confusion,  and  her  hair  fell  in  a  golden  flood 
over  her  shoulders. 

Henry  hinted  gallantly  that  the  sea-lions  were  attracted  by 
the  glare  of  golden  light  coming  from  the  land,  and  thought 
another  sun  was  rising  in  the  east,  to  outshine  the  one  now 
descending  in  the  west. 

But,  whatever  it  was  that  attracted  the  great  monsters,  after 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

a  certain  time  of  dreamy  gazing,  they  would  let  go  their  hold, 
as  if  their  curiosity  was  satisfied,  and  fall  off  again  into  the 
water,  with  a  splash  like  the  launching  of  a  ship's  jolly-boat, 
and  swim  lazily  away,  to  make  room  for  others. 

But  now  the  day  was  rapidly  declining. 

The  sun  set  clear  in  the  west,  seeming,  across  the  vast  ex 
panse  of  waters,  not  like  a  disc,  flat  and  flashing,  as  he  does 
elsewhere,  even  in  the  most  splendid  sunsets,  but  like  what  he 
is,  —  a  vast  globe  of  molten  fire,  round  and  full,  so  that  the 
very  slopes,  from  centre  to  edge,  could  be  easily  seen  and  ap 
preciated. 

It  appeared  that  Harry  knew  the  old  home  of  Helen  at  Wil 
mington.  Here  was  a  link  of  sympathy  between  them.  With 
pencil  and  a  bit  of  paper  he  drew  a  sketch  of  it,  showing  a  noble 
avenue  shaded  with  maple  trees,  ending  at  a  lake.  Helen  was 
in  ecstacies,  and  asked  for  it.  Just  then  Blanche  cried  out  that 
a  boat  was  coming  to  take  them  away.  It  soon  arrived  and 
took  them  off.  When  they  reached  home  they  found  that  cards 
had  been  left,  inviting  them  to  the  grand  ball  about  to  be  given 
by  General  Chainshot.  The  ball  had  been  much  talked  of  in 
society,  and  was  expected  to  be  the  finest  affair  of  the  season. 
All  the  town  was  agog,  and  Blanche  declared  that  they  must 
go  in  a  body,  as  the  "  castaway  colonists  ; "  for  so  she  persisted 
in  calling  the  party  that  had  spent  the  day  on  the  rocks.  But 
not  until  the  last  moment,  when  Harry  asked  her  parents  to  go, 
did  Helen  consent. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  55 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ENOCH   BLOODSTONE    "STRIKES"    IT   IN   THE    GRAHAM   MINE. 

DURING  the  absence  of  Mr.  Graham  from  the  mine,  the 
work  seemed  to  go  on  about  the  same  as  usual.  Had  Enoch 
Bloodstone  been  himself  the  proprietor,  instead  of  simply  the 
superintendent  of  the  works,  he  could  not  have  been  more  con 
stantly  in  attendance  or  more  apparently  active  in  its  prosecu 
tion.  Each  day  saw  him  at  his  post,  nor  did  he  leave  the  pit's 
mouth  till  the  night  was  far  advanced. 

The  work,  as  was  the  custom  with  most  of  the  mines  of  the 
Comstock  Lode,  was  never  permitted  to  cease,  except  upon 
Sundays.  Gangs  of  fresh  men  were  put  in  three  times  in  the 
twenty-four  hours,  to  remain  for  eight  hours  each. 

In  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  day  and  night  are  alike  ;  and  it  is 
only  when  out  of  employment,  that  the  miner  feels  that  there  is 
any  difference  between  them.  But  each  foot  that  was  added  to 
the  depth  of  the  Graham  shaft,  and  each  inch  of  extension  to  the 
drifts  and  chambers  that  were  thrown  out  from  it,  added  to  the 
force  of  an  opinion  already  powerful,  that  there  was  something 
wrong  with  the  mine ;  that  the  Comstock  Lode,  hitherto  so 
unerring  in  its  yield,  had  gone  wrong  just  at  that  spot ;  that 
there  was  a  break  in  the  vein,  and  that  poor  Graham  had  sat 
right  down  on  the  place.  Such  faults  were  well  known  to  occur 
in  silver  mines ;  so  much  so,  as  to  obtain  a  technical  name 
among  miners.  The  doubting  ones  first  hinted,  and  at  last 
boldly  asserted,  that  Graham  had  found  a  "horse"  in  his 
claim. 

In  the  meantime,  the  work  upon  the  Pactolus  Mine,  situated 
in  front  of  Mr.  Graham's  claim,  was  being  prosecuted  with  le- 
newed  activity. 


56  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

Directly  after  Mr.  Graham's  departure,  the  president, -Mr. 
Marvin  Withergreen,  had  come  back  to  Washoe,  and  since  his 
return  it  was  observed  that  a  new  and  extraordinary  vigor  was 
infused  into  its  management,  which  had  hitherto  indeed  been 
sluggish  and  faint-hearted.  A  more  powerful  steam-engine  had 
been  placed  at  the  hoisting-shaft  of  the  Pactolus,  and  the  gangs 
of  men  had  been  doubled.  It  was  known  that  several  new 
drifts  and  tunnels  were  being  thrown  out,  and  old  ones  were 
being  extended.  All  loungers  and  idlers  were  expelled  from 
about  the  hoisting-sheds  and  offices,  and  those  who  took  the 
trouble  to  inquire,  ascertained  that  tickets  of  admission  were 
no  longer  issued  to  visitors.  But  nothing  was  thought  of  this. 
Most  people  believed  that  they  knew,  and  they  boldly  said,  that 
the  moment  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen  found  anything  resembling 
pay-rock  he  would  speedily  throw  the  mine  open,  and  invite,  or 
even  pay,  people  to  come  and  look  at  it.  "  He  was  not,"  they 
said,  "  the  man  to  work  for  dividends,  but  was  simply  a  stock 
jobber,  who  would  sell  out  as  soon  as  a  favorable  opportunity 
should  occur." 

But  old  miners  saw  clearly  enough,  without  being  told,  what 
was  at  the  bottom  of  the  waking  up  of  the  hitherto  slumbering 
Pactolus.  It  was  the  growing  prospects  of  the  "  horse"  in  the 
Graham  Mine. 

In  that  grand  up-heaving  of  matter  that  geologists  tell  us 
about,  when  the  mountains  were  forced  up  half  way  to  the 
skies  by  great  pre-historic  blasts,  and  again  partially  settled 
back,  it  naturally  occurred  that  the  rocks  which  formed  the 
earth's  surface,  having  been  broken  and  rent  asunder,  did  not 
always  resume  their  original  places.  The  cracked  ends  would 
not  always  come  together  and  fit  neatly,  but  often  healed  up  in 
a  rough  and  incongruous  manner.  The  bone-setter  attending  ' 
upon  our  mother  Earth  was  either  overworked  or  unskilful,  for 
the  fractured  ends  were  not  put  together  and  bandaged  in  time. 
It  was  this  blunder  of  Nature  that  was  about  to  make  the  for 
tune —  so  it  was  thought  —  of  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen,  and 
to  finally  complete  the  ruin  of  poor  Mr.  Graham. 

It  was  about  this  time,  that  on  a  certain  Sunday  morning. 
Bloodstone  repaired,  as  usual,  to  the  hoisting-shed  to  await  the 
party  of  scientific  and  muscular  gentlemen  who  were  in  the 
habit  of  spending  their  Sundays  with  him  in  the  mine.  The 
watchman,  kept  always  at  the  pit's  mouth,  was  the  only  person 
there  when  he  arrived. 

"Stovall,  the  head  miner,  has  just  left  here,"  so  said  the  man. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  57 

"  He  waited  for  you  a  half-hour,  and  then  went  away.  He  told 
me  to  say  to  you,  that  he  and  the  others  had  gone  down  to  Day 
ton,  to  spend  the  day,  and  that  you  need  not  expect  any  of  them 
back  before  to-morrow  morning." 

Bloodstone's  countenance  showed  a  visible  disappointment. 

"Gone  to  Dayton,"  he  said  sharply;  "what  takes  them  to 
Dayton?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,  but  I  believe  there  is  to  be  some  sport  of 
some  sort.  I  don't  know  exactly  what,  but  believe  somebody 
said  it  was  a  Lynch  trial.  They  are  going  to  hang  some  horse 
thieves.  Bob  Greathouse  went  with  them,  so  Stovall  said." 

"Greathouse,  the  murderer?" 

"Yes,  sir,  the  same." 

Bloodstone  grumbled  something  about  men  who  would  not 
attend  to  their  business,  but  went  running  about  the  country  for 
nothing. 

Let  me  down  in  the  mine,  then,"  he  said.  "If  no  one  else 
will  attend  to  business,  I  must  do  it  alone.  I  will  go  down  into 
the  mine  myself.  Lower  me  down." 

It  being  Sunday,  there  was  no  steam  in  the  boiler ;  so  the  man 
disconnected  the  hoisting  apparatus  from  the  engine,  and  ad 
justed  it  to  work  by  hand. 

Bloodstone  stepped  into  the  cage. 

"Let  me  down  carefully,"  he  said,  standing  upright  in  the 
cage,  "to  the  fourth  level,  and  stay  here  till  three  o'clock,  to 
wait  my  signal  for  hoisting  up  again." 

"Don't  you  want  to  go  down  to  where  the  present  work  is 
being  done." 

"No,"  answered  Bloodstone  sharply,  "I  want  to  go  where  I 
told  you,  —  to  the  fourth  level." 

Then,  as  if  he  felt  that  he  had  been  too  severe  towards  the 
man  for  asking  a  simple  and  natural  question,  he  added,  in  a 
gentler  tone, — 

"I  wish  to  go  in  the  old  work,  and  see  what  condition  the 
timbers  are  in ;  I  have  reason  to  fear  that  they  are  giving  way. 
Let  me  down  carefully,  stay  for  my  signal,  and  be  sure  you  let 
nobody  come  into  the  mine  while  I  am  below." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  was  the  obedient  answer;  and  in  an  instant 
Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone  felt  the  cage  sink  into  the  black  void 
below. 

Faithful  to  his  duty,  the  watchman  stopped  the  cage  at  the 
fourth  level,  and  Bloodstone  stepped  out.  All  was  wrapped 
in  unspeakable  darkness,  for  though  Bloodstone  knew  that 


58  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

he  was  about  to  enter  a  part  of  the  mine  not  now  being 
worked,  yet  he  had  forgotten  that  no  light  would  be  kept, 
but  had  counted  on  finding  a  lamp  burning  in  a  binnacle  at 
the  entrance,  as  would  have  been  the  case  had  he  descended  still 
further,  to  the  level  where  during  the  week  the  workmen  were  em 
ployed.  His  first  impulse  was  to  reach  the  cord  that  connected 
with  the  bell  in  the  hoisting-shed,  and  signal  to  be  hoisted  up 
again.  But  then  he  remembered  a  lamp  that  had  always  hung  in 
the  drift,  a  few  hundred  feet  from  the  mouth,  and  which  was  kept 
as  an  extra.  He  had  matches  in  his  pocket ;  he  would  grope  his 
way  to  the  lamp  and  light  it  if  it  was  in  order;  if  not,  he  could 
still  come  back  and  signal  to  be  hoisted  up.  The  ground  was 
familiar  to  him ;  he  knew  every  inch  of  it  and  could  not  go  astray. 
So  he  proceeded,  feeling  the  side  walls  and  counting  the  up 
right  timbers,  putting  his  hand  carefully  along  each  top  joist, 
for  from  this  the  lamp  ought  to  hang,  until  he  thought  he  had 
not  only  reached  the  spot,  but  indeed  had  passed  much  beyond 
it ;  but  still  no  lamp.  He  stopped  and  reflected.  Could  he 
have  been  mistaken  ?  No,  it  was  impossible,  —  he  knew  the 
drift  so  well. 

He  went  a  little  farther,  still  carefully  feeling  his  way.  The 
drift  widened  out  into  a  chamber.  This  he  remembered,  and, 
as  he  felt  a  slight  fatigue  he  sat  down  for  a  moment  and  tried  to 
mentally  map  out  the  mine,  as  he  knew  it  to  exist,  with  its  drifts 
and  its  inclines  and  its  chambers.  This  appeared  to  come  all 
right,  but  this  horrible,  this  oppressive  darkness  confused  him, 
and  he  began  to  feel  uncertain  as  to  which  way  he  had  entered. 
This  alarmed  him  and  he  hastily  arose  and  endeavored  to  regain 
the  shaft.  He  would  act  as  a  sensible  man  ought  to  have  done 
at  first.  He  would  signal  to  be  drawn  up.  He  would  get  lights, 
and  go  to  work  properly.  But  he  had  not  proceeded  five  steps 
when  he  came  abrubtly  against  the  wall  of  the  mine.  He  turned 
and  started  in  another  direction.  Here  he  found  an  outlet,  but 
he  did  not  know  where  it  led  to.  He  stopped,  listened,  felt  for 
the  wall,  hesitated,  felt  again,  then  tried  vainly  to  pierce  the 
oppressing  darkness  with  his  eyes.  Then  sat  down  in  despair. 
He  had  lost  his  way.  He  again  tried  to  collect  his  confused 
ideas,  to  recollect  all  the  turns  he  had  made,  and  to  divine 
which  was  the  way  to  the  shaft. 

After  a  time  he  fancied  that  he  had  recalled  his  route,  and  that 
he  could  go  back.  Again  he  started,  but  after  ten  minutes  of 
groping,  during  which  he  ascended  and  descended  more  than 
one  incline,  and  vainly  followed  to  the  end  several  tunnels,  he 


X^c^U. 

ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  59 

found  himself  in  one  of  the  half-dozen  chambers  that  he  knew 
to  be  upon  the  fourth  level,  but  he  could  not  tell  which  of  them 
it  was.  He  now  gave  up  the  attempt  to  extricate  himself,  and 
sat  down  to  await  the  progress  of  events.  He  reasoned  that  at 
three  o'clock  the  watchman,  not  receiving  the  signal,  would 
grow  anxious  about  him,  and  that  no  very  long  time  after  that  a 
search  would  be  made  with  lights,  and  he  would  be  extricated 
from  his  not  dangerous  but  disagreeable  and  almost  absurd  pre 
dicament.  It  was  merely  a  question  of  time,  and  no  very  long 
time  at  that,  when  reckoned  in  a  relative  sense.  He  took  out 
his  repeater  and  sounded  the  hour.  That  instrument  announced 
the  time  to  be  nine  o'clock  and  seven  minutes.  The  watch 
man  would  not  become  sufficiently  alarmed  to  make  a  search 
for  him  before  at  least  four  o'clock  —  possibly  not  before  five  or 
even  six.  It  was  morally  certain  that  he  must  wait  there  at 
least  seven  honrs,  for  the  Graham  mine  had  but  one  opening, 
and  that  through  the  main  shaft  by  which  he  had  descended. 
As  he  had  come,  so  must  he  go  back  —  there  was  no  help  for  it. 
Enoch  Bloodstone,  now  that  this  matter  was  disposed  of  in  his 
mind  as  inevitable,  settled  himself  as  comfortably  as  circum 
stances  would  permit,  to  wait  till  he  could  have  assistance. 
He  found  a  seat  upon  a  dry  plank  used  to  level  the  track  for 
the  workmen's  wheelbarrows,  and  with  his  back  against  a  sup 
porting  side-timber,  sat  down  prepared  to  make  a  great  call  upon 
his  patience.  Time  moves  very  slowly  when  you  are  counting 
the  seconds.  Enoch  Bloodstone  felt  sure  that  at  least  two  of 
his  seven  hours  had  passed  away  when  he  again  sounded  his 
watch.  But  its  story  was  a  disappointment,  for  it  said  nine 
o'clock  and  fifty-four  minutes.  He  put  the  almost  too  faithful 
companion  of  his  solitude  back  into  his  pocket  angrily,  and 
again  settled  his  back  against  the  strong  side-timber.  Just  as 
he  did  this,  he  fancied  that  something  Jike  a  flash  of  light  en 
tered  the  chamber.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  in  doubt.  This  is  an 
ordinary  sensation  when  the  eye  is  in  perfect  darkness.  He 
had  seen  a  dozen  such  scintillations  within  the  last  half  hour,  so 
he  thought,  and  they  had  all  proved  to  be  illusions,  the  effect, 
perhaps,  of  the  over-strain  upon  the  optic  nerve,  or  as  some 
scientific  men  have  suggested,  the  remains  of  light  that  has  been 
absorbed  and  retained  somewhere  in  the  delicate  organ  of 
vision. 

But  now  he  looks  again,  and  the  chamber  appears  to  be  grow 
ing  obviously  luminous.  He  reflected  for  a  moment.  Perhaps, 
he  reasoned,  Briggs  and  Stovall  may  have  given  up  their  visit 


60  ROBER7   GREATHOUSE. 

to  Dayton  and  are  coming  into  the  mine  with  me.  Hanging 
horse-thieves  is  not  such  splendid  fun,  and  they  may  have  found 
it  so  and  returned  to  their  duty.  It  could  not  possibly  be  any 
body  else. 

While  he  was  still  ruminating  upon  the  strange  flashes  of 
light  that  were  momentarily  increasing  in  the  chamber,  till  now 
he  could  distinguish  the  line  of  the  supporting  timbers,  as  they 
ran  up  the  sides  and  passed  over  his  head,  he  heard  approaching 
footsteps. 

There  can  be  but  one  of  them  at  least,  if  there  were  more 
they  would  be  talking  with  each  other,  and  I  should  hear  their 
voices.  The  light  continued  to  brighten  and  the  footsteps  to 
draw  nearer.  At  last  the  figure  of  a  man  could  be  made  out. 
He  appeared  to  be  carefully  examining  the  top  of  the  drift  and 
the  walls,  as  he  came  along,  stopping  from  time  to  time  for  the 
purpose.  It  is  the  watchman,  at  last  thought  Mr.  Bloodstone. 
He  is  coming  down  to  look  for  me  for  some  purpose.  He 
may  have  a  message  for  me.  He  rose  and  stepped  to  the  cen 
tre  of  the  chamber  just  as  the  figure  with  the  light  approched 
the  same  spot.  The  two  men  confronted  each  other.  The 
light  blazed  up  afresh,  revealing  to  each  the  features  of  the 
one  that  was  opposite.  They  stood  a  moment  looking  each 
into  the  face  of  the  other.  Each  was  evidently  surprised. 
Bloodstone's  countenance  showed  more  than  surprise.  Amaze 
ment  was  mingled  with  dismay.  The  stranger  in  the  mine,  who 
had  come  to  his  relief,  was  neither  Briggs  the  assayer,  nor 
Stovall  the  head  miner.  Nor  was  it  the  watchman  at  the  pit's 
mouth,  nor  was  it  anybody  Mr.  Bloodstone  expected  or 
thought  it  could  possibly  have  been.  It  was  Mr.  Marvin  With- 
ergreen,  president  of  the  Pactolus  Mine. 

Bloodstone  was  the  first  to  find  words. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Mr.  Withergreen  ?  " 

This  language  was  well  enough,  but  the  question  was  not 
asked  in  the  bold,  resolute  manner  of  a  man  who  finds  an  in 
truder  upon  his  possessions  and  demands  by  what  license  he 
presumes  to  invade  another's  domain.  It  was  asked  hesitat 
ingly,  almost  beseechingly,  as  if  deprecating  any  offensive  con 
struction  to  be  put  upon  the  language. 

"  I  am  examining  the  mine,"  answered  the  other  with  the  easy 
air  of  a  man  who  knows  his  ground  and  has  the  advantage  of  the 
situation.  "  What  are  jjvw  doing  here,  Mr.  Bloodstone ;  I  thought 
you  were  strict  Sabbath-keepers  in  the  Graham  mine.  What 
are  you  doing  here  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone,"  repealed  the  presi- 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  61 

dent  of  the  Pactolus  Mine,  with  an  air  of  defiance  and  with  a 
sinister  smile  of  triumph  that  was  in  strange  contrast  with  the 
pallid  and  horrified  countenance  of  Mr.  Graham's  superinten 
dent. 

The  question  was  not  answered.  The  man  to  whom  it  had 
been  addressed  seemed  incapable  of  making  any  reply. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  answer  your  question,  as  you  seem  unable  to 
answer  mine,"  continued  Mr.  Withergreen  with  a  growing  air  of 
insolence.  "Some  weeks  ago  I  happened  to  ride  over  the 
mountain  on  the  outside  of  the  stage-coach.  One  of  my  trav 
elling  companions  was  Mr.  Edmond  Graham.  I  suppose  you 
know  the  gentleman.  I  have  been  told  that  he  is  the  owner  of 
this  mine.  You  know  better  about  that  than  I  do.  All  I  know 
is  what  they  say." 

Bloodstone  simply  grew  more  death-like  than  ever  while  the 
other  went  on. 

"  I  asked  him  about  his  prospects  in  the  mine.  He  told  me 
that  he  had  never  found  the  vein,  nor  so  much  as  an  ounce  of 
paying  rock.  I  thought  that  very  strange,  for  I  know  something 
about  mines,  and  I  have  some  idea  of  what  it  takes  to  oper 
ate  one.  Well,  sir,  just  out  of  a  natural  curiosity  I  came  back 
up  here  the  next  day.  I  changed  the  line  of  my  drifts,  just 
enough  to  bring  them  upon  this  level.  I  only  had  to  deviate 
about  five  degrees,  and  none  of  my  people  knew  what  I  was 
about.  I  ran  my  gangs  day  and  night,  without  stopping  for 
Sundays  as  you  do  in  your  mine,  and  last  night  at  two  o'clock  I 
drove  through  your  wall  and  here  I  am.  Now  do  you  under 
stand  it.  I  wanted  just  to  see  if  Mr.  Graham  was  trying  to 
humbug  me  when  he  said  he  had  no  silver  ore  in  his  mine." 

The  other  still  stood  speechless. 

"Come  here,  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone,"  said  the  president  of 
the  Pactolus  in  a  harsh  and  domineering  tone. 

The  other  spoke  not  but  obediently  approached  the  side  of  the 
chamber  where  Withergreen  stood  holding  up  his  lamp. 

A  dark-blue  stone,  mixed  with  shiny  points,  glittered  in  the 
light  of  the  lamp.  The  president  of  the  Pactolus  drew  the 
edge  of  the  chisel  that  he  had  in  his  hand  sharply  along  the 
surface  of  the  rock,  and  then  showed  it  to  the  superintendent. 

"  Do  you  know  what  that  is,  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone  ?  "  he 
demanded. 

The  light  blazed  upon  the  shining  substance  collected  by  the 
instrument. 

Bloodstone  could  see  it  plainly  upon  the  edge  of  the  chisel, 


62  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

gathered  in  a  concrete  mass,  soft  and  unctuous  as  if  mixed  with 
butter  or  some  fatty  substance,  but  no  word  could  he  speak. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  a  very  good  miner,  Mr.  Enoch 
Bloodstone  ;  that  is  chloride  of  silver.  Now  I  would  like  to 
ask  you  another  question." 

With  that,  he  put  the  light  close  to  the  wall,  and  picked  off  a 
fragment  of  loose  rock  ;  then  from  his  pocket  he  took  a  small 
tube.  It  was  a  blow-pipe.  Putting  the  lamp  near  the  stone, 
he  blew  the  flame  upon  it  for  a  minute,  and  then  taking  the 
stone,  he  held  it  to  the  light.  All  over  the  rock  little  globules 
of  a  bright,  metallic  substance  had  exuded  from  it,  and  stood 
out,  bright  and  shining,  in  the  rays  of  the  lamp. 

"  Do  you  know  what  this  is,  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone  ?  I  am 
afraid  you  don't;  so  I  will  tell  you.  It  is  silver  ore,  and  these 
bright  globules  are  little  points  of  pure  silver." 

He  threw  the  bit  of  rock  upon  the  earth,  and  turned  to  re 
gard  Mr.  Graham's  manager. 

Had  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen  been  human  he  would  have 
pitied  the  wretch  who  stood  before  him  humiliated,  stricken 
down,  crushed.  But  he  went  on,  — 

"It  is  my  opinion,  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone,  that  when  Mr. 
Graham  told  me  that  no  silver  had  been  discovered  in  his 
ground,  he  was  slightly  mistaken.  Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

The  president  of  the  Pactolus  Mine  appeared  now  to  have 
finished  his  course  of  questions,  and  stood  with  a  triumphant 
smile,  awaiting  an  answer. 

"  Don't  be  so  severe  with  me,  Mr.  Withergreen,"  the  super 
intendent  at  last  gasped  out.  "I  am  not  so  bad  as  you  think 
I  am.  I  am  not,  I  assure  you.  I  can  explain  to  you  how  I 
have  fallen  into  this  thing,  and  you  will  see  that  I  do  not  intend 
in  the  end  to  wrong  Mr.  Graham." 

The  countenance  of  the  president  of  the  Pactolus  changed 
perceptibly  to  one  of  contempt  mingled  with  disgust. 

"Why,  you  fool !  what  do  you  think  I  am  here  for?  Do  you 
suppose  I  have  run  seven  hundred  feet  of  tunnel  through  a 
quartz  rock  that  will  turn  the  point  of  a  cast-steel  drill,  all  at 
my  own  expense,  for  the  sake  of  keeping  you  from  swindling 
old  Graham  ?  " 

He  paused,  as  if  to  give  time  for  his  words  to  have  their  full 
effect. 

"  Not  if  I  know  myself.  Enoch  Bloodstone,  you  are  bung 
ling  in  this  business,  and  I  am  here  to  save  you.  Left  to  your 
self  you  will  come  to  grief  in  a  month.  I'll  tell  you  how  you 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  63 

have  been  managing  this  business,  and  it  will  show  what  an 
idiot  you  are.  You  have  been  employing  your  gangs  in  working 
in  the  lower  levels  and  drifts  where  you  know  there  is  no  ore. 
Then,  on  Sundays,  you  and  a  half-dozen  confederates,  sneak 
into  the  mine,  and  pick  out  and  bag  what  little  you  can  steal  in 
eight  or  ten  hours'  work,  and  smuggle  it  away  to  a  mill  down 
on  the  Dayton  road,  to  be  crushed  and  roasted.  With  the 
result  of  that,  you  pay  your  men  ;  but  it  takes  the  most  of  it  to 
bribe  and  keep  quiet  the  rascals  you  have  in  the  secret  with 
you.  Now,  how  long  do  you  think  that  will  last,  Mr.  Enoch 
Bloodstone  ?  " 

Bloodstone  did  not  answer 

"  It  will  last  till  the  day  when  Mr.  Graham  gets  back  from 
San  Francisco,  and  no  longer.  The  way  you  work  this  thing, 
you  don't  get  enough  ore  to  shut  the  mouths  of  your  confeder 
ates.  They  spend  it  all  through  the  week,  and  will  go  to 
Graham  with  the  secret  as  soon  as  he  lands  in  the  Territory. 
You  have  been  acting  like  a  burglar,  who,  after  breaking  into  a 
gentleman's  house  in  search  of  his  plate,  seizes  the  kitchen 
candlesticks  and  runs  away  with  them,  and  is  caught  and  hanged 
for  it." 

"I  can  explain  it  to  you,  Mr.  Withergreen,"  gasped  the  pallid 
superintendent. 

"It  does  not  require  any  explanation,  Mr.  Bloodstone.  It 
is  clear,  and  explains  itself.  I  said  before,  I  alone  can  save 
you,  and  I  have  come  to  do  it.  You  can't  get  this  ore  up 
through  your  shaft,  do  what  you  may,  without  old  Graham  find 
ing  out  your  trick.  It's  too  rich.  The  teamster  that  hauls  it 
off  would  fill  his  pockets,  and  get  caught  at  it,  and  let  the  secret 
out.  A  Washoe  baby  three  months  old  would  know  at  sight  that 
every  penny-weight  of  the  rock  would  crush  and  clean  up  three 
thousand  dollars  a  ton.  This  horn  silver  and  chloride  is  worth 
ten  thousand  dollars  a  ton.  It  is  the  next  thing  to  coined  half- 
dollars.  Now  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  come  here  to  say  to 
you,  and  what  I  will  do.  There  are  fourteen  hundred  shares  in 
the  Pactolus  Mine.  To-day  they  are  worth  nominally  ten  dol 
lars  a  share.  Next  week  I  will  clap  on  an  assessment  of  twenty 
dollars  a  share.  That  will  knock  them  down  to  nothing.  You 
can  pick  up  as  much  as  you  want.  We  will  buy  up  and  secure 
a  controlling  interest,  and  that  with  my  management  is  as  good 
as  owning  every  share.  When  the  shares  are  bought,  we  will 
find  the  vein  in  the  Pactolus  — the  Comstock  vein." 


64  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

Mr.  Bloodstone  stared  at  him.  He  did  not  understand.  The 
thing  was  too  enormous. 

"  Have  you  got  the  vein,  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  you  fool !  This  is  the  vein  we  are  going  to  discover, 
and  the  tunnel  that  I  finished  last  night  is  the  road  out.  The 
line  of  divergence  is  so  slight,  that  my  people  will  never  know 
that  the  ore  does  not  come  from  my  ground.  Cornish  miners 
are  not  not  civil  engineers,  and,  besides,  they  never  ask  any 
questions.  That  will  be  our  secret,  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone,  - 
yours  and  mine,  and  those  half-dozen  rogues  that  your  stupidity 
has  let  in  with  you.  They  will  have  to  be  bribed  roundly  with 
shares  in  the  Pactolus,  to  keep  them  quiet.  But  they  are  cheap 
now,  and  we  can  manage  that  well  enough.  This  is  my  first 
offer  to  you,  Mr.  Bloodstone,  and  I  have  run  seven  hundred 
feet  of  tunnel  through  a  very  stubborn  quartz  ledge,  to  get  at 
you  to  make  it.  I  therefore  don't  intend  to  make  any  other  to 
you.  My  next  offer  will  be  made  to  Mr.  Edmond  Graham.  It 
will  not  be  so  advantageous  an  offer  for  myself  personally  as 
this  one  is,  nor  will  it  be,  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone  — "  and  this 
he  said  slowly,  and  through  his  set  teeth,  —  "as  good  an  offer 
on  your  account.  Indeed,  sir,  the  proposal  I  shall  make  to  Mr. 
Edmond  Graham,  if  you  decline,  will  be  very  much  against 
your  interests." 

Enoch  Bloodstone  at  last  raised  his  head,  and  made  an  effort 
to  speak. 

"Mr.  Withergreen,  you  have  found  me  here  under  circum 
stances  that,  I  admit,  give  you  greatly  the  advantage  of  me,  so 
that  you  can  say  to  me  almost  what  you  please.  But  I  told 
you,  sir,  in  the  beginning,  that  I  did  not  intend  to  wrong  Mr. 
Graham,  and  I  told  you  the  truth." 

The  yellow  light  of  the  lamp  made  the  smile  upon  the  face 
of  the  president  of  the  Pactolus  Mine  almost  demoniac. 

The  superintendent  continued,  — 

"  When  Mr.  Graham  left  for  San  Francisco,  we  had  already 
found  the  vein ;  that  I  admit.  But  we  had  only  found  it  a  few 
days  before." 

"And  then  you  quitted  work  in  this  chamber,  and  commenced 
a  new  drift  two  hundred  feet  below,"  said  Withergreen,  sneer- 
ingly.  "  At  the  same  time,  you  urged  Mr.  Graham  to  go  away 
and  bring  up  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  all  without  hinting  to 
him  your  discoveries.  And  now  you  write  to  him  every  day 
that  there  is  no  sign  of  ore  in  the  mine." 

"  Yes ;  all  of  that  is  true ;  but,  sir,  it  was  not  to  cheat  Mr, 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  65 

Graham  that  I  did  it.     I  intended  to  deal  justly  with  him.     I 
did.     I  will  swear  it." 

The  yellow  lamp  again  revealed  a  grin  upon  the  features  of 
Mr.  Withergreen.  But  Bloodstone  saw  it  not,  and  went  on 
with  a  supplicator's  \vhine,  — 

"Mr.  Withergreen,  I  have  acted  very  foolishly  —  very  badly, 
if  you  please ;  but  it  was  not  for  pecuniary  gain  that  I  did  it. 
It  was  all  done  because  I  love  Helen  Graham,  and  want  to 
marry  her." 

The  sentence  was  scarcely  uttered,  when  Mr.  Withergreen 
burst  into  an  explosion  of  derisive  laughter. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha!"  he  laughed;  first  raising  the  lamp  up, 
and  then  letting  it  almost  down  to  the  ground  ;  "ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Bloodstone  stopped,  and  waited  patiently  till  the  fit  of  hilar 
ity  should  pass  away,  to  continue. 

*  "  Oh,  but  this  is  good,"  at  last  groaned  the  president  of  the 
Pactolus.  "You  fall  in  love  with  the  daughter,  and  in  order  to 
ingratiate  yourself  with  her,  you  deliberately  rob  the  father. 
The  idea  is  quite  original.  You  ought  to  have  a  patent  right 
for  it.  Was  it  the  young  lady  or  yourself  that"  invented  the 
happy  idea  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Withergreen,  you  are  disposed  to  be  very  severe  with 
me  ;  but  I  deserve  it.  Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  about  it.  I  met 
Miss  Graham  in  San  Francisco,  and  no  matter  how  or  why,  I 
fell  in  love  with  her.  Yes,  in  love  !  You  may  laugh ;  but  I 
was,  and  am  so  yet ;  and  that  is  how  I  came  to  be  here  in  this 
mine." 

Withergreen  looked  hard  at  Bloodstone,  holding  up  the  lamp 
for  that  purpose. 

The  yellow  light  made  the  pallid,  colorless  features  of  Mr. 
Graham's  superintendent  even  more  hideous,  as  it  played  upon 
them. 

Each  man  gazed  upon  the  other,  intent  only  upon  his  own 
interests  and  sordid  wants,  avarice  and  thirst  for  wicked  advan 
tage  being  the  chief  mark  upon  the  two  faces.  The  scene 
resembled  a  picture  of  Gerard  Dow,  representing  two  thieves 
in  a  cave  dividing  plunder. 

At  last,  as  if  satisfied  with  the  examination,  Mr.  Withergreen 
changed  his  manner. 

"  Come,  now,  this  is  not  so  bad  as  I  thought.  I  do  believe 
you  are  telling  me  the  truth.  Tell  me  all  about  it.  I  adore 
love-stories,  and  always  read  every  one  that  falls  in  my  way. 


66  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

It's  the  romance  of  the  thing,  I  like.     But,   seriously  let  U3 
hear  how  you  came  to  be  in  the  mine." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Bloodstone,  "  as  I  told  you  before,  and  to 
shorten  the  story,  I  loved  this  girl,  but  she  did  not  love  me.  I 
don't  know  why  ;  for  I  had,  you  know,  plenty  of  money.  But 
she  did  not ;  that's  all  I  can  say.  She  may  have  got  her  eye 
upon  some  rich  Washoe  man  with  more  coin." 

"May  be  I  could  give  a  guess,"  said  Withergreen,  "why  she 
did  not  love  you,  but  I  won't.  Go  on." 

"Well,  sir,  I  don't  give  up  my  plans  very  readily.  I  have 
made  my  money  by  sticking  close  to  everything  I  undertake, 
,  and  never  giving  up  to  any  obstacle.  I  have  always  found  that 
^  I  succeed  in  the  long  run.  With  my  money  I  knew.  I  ought  to 
be  able  to  win  her  or  any  other  woman,  and  that  it  was  my 
own  fault  if  I  did  not  do  so.  It  was  only  a  question  of  time. 
I  had  made  one  of  the  biggest  fortunes  in  California,  and  now 
I  wanted  to  finish  it  off  by  marrying  the  handsomest  woman  in 
the  country ;  and  I  had  never  failed  in  anything  that  I  had  at 
tempted,  and  believed  I  should  not  fail  in  this.  Well,  she  re 
fused  me  at  San  Francisco ;  so  I  came  up  here  and  found  out 
all  about  Graham's  troubles.  He  had  the  vein  I  was  sure,  but 
was  about  to  be  sold  out  for  want  of  capital  to  develop  it.  I 
\J  took  hold  of  him  as  his  superintendent  and  capitalist.  I  in 
tended  to  help  him  to  the  mine,  to  put  him  on  his  legs.  In 
the  mean  time,  I  thought  to  myself,  the  family  would  come  up, 
I  would  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  young  lady  and 
again  addressing  her.  This  time  I  would  have  claims  upon  her 
gratitude  as  well  as  the  father's,  and  I  would  have  even  more 
money  than  ever.  That  was  how  it  was,  Mr.  Withergreen." 

Ah,  now  I  understand  it,  said  the  president  of  the  Pactolus ; 
you  intended  to  get  the  old  man  so  tied  up  with  debts  and  kind-- 
nesses  that  at  last  there  would  be  no  way  out  but  for  you  to 
have  the  girl.  I  see  all  through  it  now.  It's  plain  enough,  and 
what  broke  into  your  plans  was  the  premature  discovery  of  the 
vein.  Yes,  yes,  you  struck  it  too  soon  and  so  upset  everything. 
Was  it  not  so,  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone." 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Graham's  superintendent,  hesitatingly, 
"  that  is  about  it.  I  only  intended  to  conceal  the  discovery 
from  him  for  a  little  time,  —  perhaps  for  only  a  few  days,  —  till  I 
could  arrange  matters  to  my  satisfaction."  ' 

Neither  of  the  gentlemen  spoke  for  a  considerable  time.     Mr. 

Bloodstone  had  made  his  explanation.     He  had  made  it  truth- 

J     fully ;  his  plan  had  been  the  silly  shift  of  a  weak,  petty  mind ; 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  67 

he  had  acted  within  the  narrow  and  vicious  circle  of  his  own 
nature  ;  he  had  always  believed  that  money  opened  to  its  pos 
sessor  all  things  in  the  world,  and  he  had  laid  his  plans  in  ac 
cordance  with  that  notion,  which  was  as  strong  as  any  convic 
tion  such  a  mind  was  capable  of  forming.  Until  within  a  few 
weeks  his  schemes  had  appeared  to  move  along  in  the  general 
direction  of  success,  and  he  had  had  no  cause  to  doubt  of  ulti 
mate  triumph.  The  money  that  he  was  spending  in  the  mine, 
he  was  sure  would  not  be  lost,  for  the  mines  on  each  side  of 
him  were  already  paying  monthly  dividends  of  sums  so  enor 
mous,  that  the  entire  amount  of  his  investment  sunk  into  insig- 
nificence  in  comparison.  He  had  studied  Helen's  character  as 
thoroughly  as  such  a  mind  as  his  own  was  capable  of  studying 
such  a  character  as  hers.  Her  nobler  traits  were  beyond  his 
conception ;  he  did  not  know  them  to  exist ;  but  he  knew  that 
while  she  was  possessed  of  a  proud  and  lofty  will,  yet  she  was 
capable  of  making  the  most  unreserved  sacrifices  to  that  which 
she  might  consider  duty  to  her  father,  or  the  fulfilment  of  her 
own  or  his  pledges,  whether  expressed,  or  implied.  The  hon 
orable  character  of  Mr.  Graham  had  also  entered  largely,  as  a 
practical  element,  into  the  calculation  of  chances  made  by  Mr. 
Bloodstone.  He  knew  that  Mr.  Graham  would  keep  his  word, 
no  matter  what  might  be  the  consequences  to  himself,  and 
further,  that  he  would  as  faithfully  redeem  any  promise  that 
his  conduct  might  have  implied,  as  he  would  a  direct  one.  At 
the  beginning  of  his  connection  with  the  Graham  affairs,  he 
had  commenced  by  hinting,  and  at  last,  had  openly  advised 
the  placing  of  the  family  at  Virginia.  This  Mr.  Graham  had 
avoided  doing,  chiefly  because  of  his  unwillingness  to  place 
Helen  under  the  annoyance  of  listening  to  the  unwelcome  pro 
testations  of  Bloodstone  ;  and  not  until  the  declining  health  of 
his  wife  had  rendered  it  absolutely  necessary,  had  he  at  last  re 
luctantly  yielded  his  consent  to  the  change.  When  Mr.  Gra 
ham  first  began  to  meditate  upon  his  journey  to  San  Francisco, 
Enoch  Bloodstone  thought  he  saw  the  success  of  his  schemes 
on  the  point  of  fruition.  In  a  short  time,  the  family  would  be 
where  he  could  see  them  daily,  while  the  difficulties  of  Mr. 
Graham,  which  he  possessed  the  means  of  greatly  exaggerating, 
could  be  brought  to  bear  in  such  manner  as  he  was  quite  sure 
would  speedily  place  the  prize  within  his  grasp.  But,  a  few 
weeks  before  the  time  of  Mr.  Graham's  actual  departure,  to  the 
dismay  of  the  superintendent,  the  chief  miner  announced  to  him 
the  discovery  of  the  vein.  A  personal  examination  made  by 


68  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

himself,  aided  by  his  assayist,  disclosed  the  fact  that  they  had 
reached  a  bed  of  ore  of  marvellous  breadth  and  richness.  Mr. 
Bloodstone  found  that  he  could,  with  his  lantern  held  against 
the  walls,  almost  see  enough  ore  to  pay  Mr.  Graham's  debts, 
and  to  insure  him  one  of  the  largest  fortunes  in  the  country. 
Enoch  Bloodstone  had  never  had  any  standard  of  human  mo 
tives  or  human  actions  other  than  that  of  dollars  and  cents. 
In  his  opinion,  if  Helen  did  not  marry  him,  it  was  only  because 
she,  in  the  pride  of  her  beauty,  looked  for  a  suitor  with  a  larger 
fortune  ;  and  it  is  but  justice  to  him  to  add,  that  in  his  opinion 
it  was  perfectly  natural  that  she  should  do  so.  It  was  precisely 
what  he  would  himself  have  done  under  similar  circumstances, 
and  what  he  should  expect  any  person  to  do.  He  thought  he 
loved  her,  but  in  this  he  deceived  himself.  He  had  amassed  a 
considerable  fortune  by  close  attention  to  business,  in  a  mining 
town  in  California.  Having  repaired  to  San  Francisco  with  his 
wealth,  he  was  ambitious  to  enter  upon  a  fashionable  mode  of 
life.  To  do  this  with  eclat  he  wished  to  marry  the  most  beau 
tiful  woman  in  the  country ;  it  would  help  him  to  a  position  in 
society,  and  would  also  gratify  his  vanity,  which  was  very  great. 
His  success,  so  far,  had  been  gained  by  never  yielding  a  point 
once  undertaken ;  he  would  not  yield  this  one,  but  would  pur 
sue  it  to  success.  Till  the  discovery  of  the  vein  all  had  gone 
well  with  his  plans,  but  now  they  were  beset  with  a  difficulty 
which,  even  to  him,  was  apparently  insurmountable.  If  she 
could  afford  to  refuse  him,  with  his  considerable  estate,  while 
she  was  yet  the  daughter  of  a  man  in  a  condition  of  almost 
hopeless  insolvency,  how  could  he  expect  her  to  listen  to  his 
suit ;  once  she  had  been,  as  she  would  be  now,  on  the  very 
pinacle  of  prosperity.  It  was  clear  that  this  unexpected,  un 
welcome  discovery,  once  known,  would  place  him  wholly  out 
of  the  contest.  He  must  within  a  month  receive  back  from 
Mr.  Graham  all  of  his  advances  with  interest,  perhaps  with  a 
handsome  gratuity  in  addition,  and  be  dismissed  with  thanks. 
But  the  chief  prize  for  which  he  had  schemed  and  plotted, 
would  be  remorselessly  snatched  from  his  sight  forever,  almost 
at  the  moment  that  his  fingers  were  in  the  act  of  clutching  it. 
Concealment  is  always  the  result  of  a  weak  nature.  Enoch 
Bloodstone's  first  impulse  was  to  cover  up  the  glittering  treas 
ure  ;  to  hide  it,  so  that  none  should  know  the  hateful  secret.  He 
at  once  ordered  all  the  miners  out  of  the  chamber  in  which  the 
discovery  had  been  made.  Not  content  with  this,  he  sent  them 
two  hundred  feet  farther  down  the  shaft,  and  put  them  at  work, 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  69 

taking  care  that  the  line  of  the  vein,  as  he  now  knew  it  to  dip, 
should  be  avoided  in  future.  Had  it  been  in  his  power,  he 
would  have  concealed  the  discovery  from  everybody,  till  he 
could  carry  out  his  designs  with  respect  to  Helen.  Then,  when 
all  had  been  perfected  to  his  satisfaction,  and  she  his  betrothed, 
he  would,  so  he  thought,  reveal  to  Mr.  Graham  the  good  fortune 
that  had  come  to  diem  all.  But  unfortunately  for  this  mild 
plan  of  half-roguery,  half-honesty,  the  secret  was  not  solely  his 
own.  The  assayist  of  the  mine,  as  well  as  the  chief  miner  and 
some  of  the  workmen,  had  seen  the  ore  and  understood  its 
value.  There  was,  therefore,  no  way  out  but  to  bribe  them  to 
keep  silence  by  dividing  with  them  the  plunder  of  his  intended 
father-in-law.  He  immediately  sounded  the  others,  and  found 
them  not  unwilling  to  be  corrupted.  A  hasty  bargain  was  made 
between  them,  the  performance  of  which,  as  the  reader  will  have 
already  suspected,  was  being  carried  out  on  the  Sundays,  when 
the  mine  was  unoccupied. 

Marvin  Withergreen  had  listened  to  the  short  and  broken 
explanation  of  the  discomfited  superintendent,  with  the  ear  of 
a  man  who  had  listened  willingly  to  many  a  story  of  villainy.  I/ 
He  had  all  his  life  studied  the  art  of  gaining  and  using  power 
gathered  from  the  weakness  or  crimes  of  others,  and  so  far  it 
had  proved  eminently  successful.  He  saw  that  Bloodstone  was 
telling  him  the  truth,  and  he  divined  in  a  moment  the  real  state 
of  the  case  just  as  we  have  related  it.  He  was  glad  that  the 
facts  had  turned  out  as  they  proved  to  be ;  the  situation  was 
more  favorable  to  his  purpose  than  he  had  expected  to  mid  it ; 
it  was  so  much  the  more  favorable  to  him,  by  just  the  quantity 
of  personal  vanity  or  mock  sentiment  that  Bloodstone  would 
prove  to  posses!,,  let  that  be  much  or  little.  At  last  he  broke 
the  silence. 

"  Mr.  Bloodstone,  I  am  glad  to  find  this  matter  to  be  as  you 
have  stated  it.  It  puts  you  in  the  light  of  a  very  honest  man, 
but  still  my  offer  is  a  good  one  for  all  parties.  This  mine  is 
rich  beyond  all  human  computation,  and  we  have  every  reason 
to  believe  it  to  be  practically  inexhaustible.  This  lode  will  be 
worked  for  silver  ore  a  thousand  years  from  to-day.  It  will 
make  you  and  I  rich  men  in  three  months,  and  Mr.  Graham 
when  he  comes  to  his  own  will  never  miss  what  has  been  taken 
from  it.  The  ground  won't  be  scratched  over.  In  the  mean 
time  you  will  have  the  girl.  You  will  have  plenty  of  money 
for  yourself  and  Graham  besides,  and  who  will  be  any  the 
worse  off  for  the  little  that  we  will  get  ?  nobody.  You  keep 


70  ROBERT    GREATHOUSE. 

Graham  out  two  or  three  months,  just  long  enough  to  bring 
Miss  Helen  down  to  her  bearings.  Then  you  let  him  in  or 
you  keep  it  yourself,  just  as  you  please.  It  will  be  all  in  the 
family  anyway  you  know.  The  only  difference  will  be,  that  I, 
the  friend  who  will  really  have  helped  you  out  of  the  scrape  will 
get  a  few  dollars.  That  won't  hurt  anybody.  If  it's  a  million, 
what  is  that  to  Graham.  Look  at  this  ore ;  every  ounce  of  it  is 
worth  five  thousand  dollars  a  ton.  Why,  only  leave  me  in  here 
a  couple  of  days  uninterrupted,  and  I  could  take  out  enough 
with  a  hammer  and  cold  chisel  to  do  me.  Come,  what  do  you 
say ;  do  you  want  the  girl  or  not  ?  " 

Enoch  Bloodstone  hesitated,  stopped  and  considered,  and 
then  fell  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen.  They 
talked  over  their  plans  for  half  an  hour,  the  yellow  lamp-light 
glaring  over  their  sinister  faces,  making  deep  shadows  and  lines, 
each  looking  more  selfish,  more  wicked,  and  more  disgusting 
than  the  other.  It  was  agreed  that  the  secret  should  be  kept 
carefully  till  all  the  Pactolus  stock  could  be  bought  in,  to  facil 
itate  which  an  assessment  was  to  be  clapped  on  equal  to  its 
present  nominal  value  in  the  market.  Of  course,  nothing  could 
be  done  till  the  Pactolus  stock  could  be  bought,  for  otherwise 
the  pretended  discoveries  would  inure  to  the  benefit  of  the 
shareholders  of  that  mine.  When  all  had  been  bought  in,  then 
the  shaft  of  the  Pactolus  was  to  be  thrown  open,  and  the  rich 
ore,  taken  from  the  Graham  mine,  was  to  be  hoisted  up  and 
drawn  publicly  with  great  ostentation  to  the  mills  for  crushing 
as  the  product  of  the  Pactolus  mine. 

All  of  this  part  of  the  plot  was  left  in  the  ha.nds  of  Wither 
green,  while  the  other  was  to  attend  to  the  Graham  mine,  to 
carefully  exclude  visitors  from  the  fourth  level,  and  to  maintain 
a  faint  show  of  work  in  the  lower  level  alone,  carefully  avoid 
ing  the  direction  in  which  the  vein  was  now  known  to  lie.  This 
agreed  upon,  the  conspirators  took  their  way  to  the  open  air. 
First  they  proceeded  to  the  shaft,  lighted  by  Withergreen' s 
lamp.  The  signal  was  made,  and  the  superintendent  mounted 
upwards  in  the  cage,  while  his  associate  returned  to  issue  bv 
the  mouth  of  his  own  mine,  the  Pactolus. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  71 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  BOSH  SILVER-MINING  COMPANY. 

"MR.  CHAIRMAN, —  I  believe  we  have  a  quorum  of  directors 
present.  Such  being  the  fact,  I  move  that  we  proceed  with  the 
regular  business  of  the  meeting." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Gudgeon  ;  the  motion  is  quite  proper." 

"Trie  monthly  meeting  of  the  directors  of  the  Bosh  Silver- 
Mining  Company  will  come  to  order,  and  the  same  is  now  de 
clared  duly  organized.  The  doors  will  be  closed,  as  this  part  of 
the  meeting  will  be  held  in  secret  session. 

"The  first  business  in  order  will  be  the  reading  of  the  minutes 
of  the  last  meeting." 

The  meeting,  which  opened  as  above,  was  held  at  the  offices 
of  Mr.  Ebenezer  Gudgeon,  in  San  Francisco,  on  the  evening  of 
the  night  of  the  great  Chainshot  bail.  It  had  been  regularly 
advertised  in  the  "  Morning  Smasher,"  over  the  names  of  the 
President  and  Secretary.  But  neither  of  these  gentlemen  being 
known  to  the  public,  or  indeed  to  anybody  except  the  parties 
actually  interested,  but  few  people  in  the  city  knew  of  the  in 
tended  meeting.  The  President  of  the  Bosh  Silver-Mining 
Company,  printed  in  the  notice  of  the  meeting,  was  Patrick 
Dwyer,  Esq.,  and  the  Secretary  answered  to  the  name  of  Mi 
chael  Connolly,  Esq.  To  the  general  public  the  Bosh  Silver 
Mine,  if  such  a  mine  ever  existed,  was  quite  as  unknown  as  its 
chief  officers  were  obscure. 

Patrick  Dwyer,  Esq.,  the  president,  had  been  the  porter  and 
man-of-all-work  in  the  store  of  Mr.  Ebenezer  Gudgeon  when 


72  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

that  gentleman  was  in  regular  trade,  and  now  that  the  shop 
had  been  given  up  in  deference  to  a  natural  wish  on  the  part  of 
his  wife  and  son,  to  participate  in  the  loftier  aspirations  and 
breathe  the  purer  air  of  high  life,  Patrick  Dwyer,  Esq.,  had  been 
promoted  to  the  confidential  position  of  groom,  coachman,  and 
collector  of  rents,  all  of  which  duties,  for  his  special  benefit,  had 
been  consolidated  into  one  single  office.  Patrick  Dwyer,  Esq., 
was  both  ignorant  and  honest.  These  two  invaluable  'qualities 
made  him  exceedingly  useful  to  his  employer,  often  even  with 
out  his  own  knowledge.  For  example,  Patrick  Dwyer  was 
the  owner  of  mining  shares  in  California  and  Washoe,  to  an 
amount  and  representing  a  nominal  value  so  vast  that,  had  it 
been  mentioned  to  him  in  its  fulness,  his  dull  mind  would 
scarcely  have  been  capable  of  comprehending  a  tithe  of  its  ex 
tent.  But  it  is  not  at  all  probable  that  he  knew  himself  to  be 

/  the  possessor  of  a  share  of  stock  in  the  wide  world.  The  shares 
standing  in  the  name  of  Patrick  Dwyer,  Esq.,  were  the  property 
of  his  master,  who  kept  possession  of  them,  and,  by  a  general 
power  of  attorney,  which  he  held  of  his  servant,  bought,  pledged, 
sold  or  conveyed  them  at  his  pleasure.  Mr.  Dwyer  never  even 
knew  that  he  had  been  the  owner  of  them.  It  may  not  be  out 
of  place  to  explain  why  this  was.  The  owners  of  shares  in 
joint  stock  corporations  are  subject  to  certain  liabilities  beyond 
the  loss  of  their  investment.  They  may  in  certain  contingencies 
he  called  upon  to  contribute  towards  the  payment  of  the  debts 
j)f  the  company  in  which  they  are  stockholders.  Again,  it  will 
sometimes  occur  that  well-known  citizens,  of  thorough  respect 
ability,  will  not  wish,  for  reasons  of  a  private  nature,  to  be  un 
derstood  as  encouraging  some  particular  enterprise.  It  may 
not  be  in  keeping  with  their  position  in  society,  for  there  is  a 
certain  public  opinion  that  some  of  the  most  respectable  meiji 
are  obliged  at  times  to  bow  before.  Even  if  the  enterprise  be 
otherwise  unobjectionable,  still  it  may  be  levelled  against  the  in 
terests  of  some  warm  personal  friend,  or  may  conflict  with  the 
rights  of  some  citizen  so  powerful  that  it  may  be  dangerous  to 
offend  him.  In  such  cases  it  is  not  only  convenient,  but  it  is 
indeed  often  indispensable  to  have  a  "man  of  straw,"  as  they 

J  are  called,  to  put  forward  as  the  ostensible  owner.  Patrick 
Dwyer,  Esq.,  president  of  the  Bosh  Silver-Mining  Company,  was 
**  a  man  of  straw."  He  was  not  present  at  the  meeting  held 
this  evening.  He  did  not  even  know  that  the  meeting  was  to 
be  held.  More  than  that,  he  did  not  know  that  he  was  presi 
dent  of  the  Bosh  Silver-Mining  Company,  or  that  such  a  com- 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  73 

pany  was  in  existence.  Had  any  person  caused  him  for  a  mo 
ment  to  cease  rubbing  the  horses,  or  hurrying  the  tenants  of 
Mr.  Ebenezer  Gudgeon,  and  to  read  the  notice  of  the  meeting 
published  over  the  name  of  Patrick  Dwyer,  Esq.,  in  the  "Daily 
Smasher,"  he  would  have  disclaimed  being  the  individual  named 
therein. 

"It  is  not  myself,"  he  would  have  declared,  "but  another  of 
the  same  name."  And  even  if  convinced  that  he  was  the  iden 
tical  president  of  the  company  he  would  have  added,  "Well, 
that  is,  I  suppose,  some  affair  of  the  governor's.  In  these 
mines,  gentlemen  have  a  power  of  trouble,  and  I  have  lent 
my  name  to  him  to  use  as  he  sees  fit." 

Michael  Connolly,  Esq.,  nominal  secretary  of  the  company, 
was  the  coachman  of  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen,  and  like  the  pre-  \/ 
sident  of  the  Bosh,  was  "a  man  of  straw."  He  was  not  present 
at  the  meeting  called  at  Mr.  Ebenezer  Gudgeon's  chambers. 
This  meeting  was  presided  over,  in  the  absence  of  the  president, 
by  Mr.  Melchisedec  Snakeweed,  one  of  the  directors,  while  the 
duties  of  secretary  were  performed  protempore  by  another  mem 
ber  of  that  body,  Mr.  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon. 

The  reader  will  naturally  ask  why  it  was  that  the  chief  offices 
of  the  Bosh  Silver  Mine  were  bestowed  upon  "men  of  straw," 
and  why  its  meetings  were  held  in  secret.  The  answer  is,  that 
the  Bosh  Mining  Company  was  itself  a  company  of  straw,  and  y 
it's  mine  was  as  yet  a  straw  mine.  To  explain  this  more  fully  it 
will  be  necessary  to  again  recur  to  the  history  of  the  discovery 
of  the  Comstock  Lode,  and  its  location. 

We  have  already  shown  in  a  former  chapter  how,  directly  after 
its  unparalleled  wealth  was  demonstrated,  a  crowd  of  adventu 
rers  poured  in  upon  it  and  seized  upon  the  whole  country,  "stak 
ing  off  claims,"  as  it  is  called,  that  covered  the  face  of  the  land 
in  every  direction  for  twenty  miles  away.  But  one  claim  could 
of  course,  be  held  by  one  individual ;  and  it  often  occurred 
that  people,  in  the  haste  of  a  scrambling  settlement,  would  claim 
ground  that  the  next  day  they  would  be  dissatisfied  with  and 
wish  to  give  up  so  that  they  could  take  one  more  to  their  mind. 
This  they  did  without  hesitation  upon  the  slightest  whim  or  fancy, 
and  hurried  away  to  another  which  for  the  moment  appeared  more 
enticing,  only  to  again  perhaps  abandon  that  for  still  others.  The 
consequence  was  that  the  whole  territory  for  many  miles  in  every 
direction,  had  been  literally  plastered  over  with  claims,  to  use  the 
words  of  the  country,  eight  or  ten  deep.  At  last,  the  ground  would 
perhaps  fall  into  the  hands  of  some  miner  either  more  industrious 


74  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

or  possessing  more  stability  of  mind,  and  after  months  of  hard 
work  and  great  expense,  it  would  be  demonstrated  that  he  was 
in  possession  of  a  silver  mine  perhaps  of  almost  untold  value. 
But  the  day  that  his  troubles  ceased  at  the  bottom  of  his  shaft 
by  striking  the  vein,  was  the  moment  they  commenced  above 
ground.  The  runaways,  who  in  safe  obscurity  had  been  watch 
ing  eagerly  every  wheelbarrow-load  of  stones  and  earth  thrown 
from  the  mine's  mouth,  now  came  suddenly  down  upon  him  in 
clamorous  crowds.  They  had  been  forced  from  their  claim,  the 
value  of  which  they  had  never  doubted,  by  unlawful  violence. 
They  had  been  prostrated  by  sickness  and  compelled  reluct- 
tantly  to  leave  off  laboring  upon  their  mine  for  a  few  days. 
Meanwhile  the  spoiler  had  come  upon  their  possessions  and 
kept  them  out.  They  had  been  called  away  by  trouble,  by 
want,  by  domestic  affliction,  by  a  thousand  different  causes 
equally  inevitable,  only  to  return  and  find  others  reaping  the 
reward  due  to  them.  But  the  runaways  soon  found  that  Was- 
hoe  v/as  not  the  best  field  for  their  operations.  No  one  would 
listen  to  their  stories,  and  had  they  made  any  attempt  to  rien- 
state  themselves  in  their  former  possessions  by  violence,  they 
would  have  been  summarily  dealt  with  as  robbers  and  thieves. 
They  would  have  been  hanged.  The  most  of  them  soon  found 
their  way  to  the  more  congenial  locality  of  San  Francisco. 
Arriving  in  that  city  they  found  no  difficulty  in  disposing  of 
their  claims.  They  were  soon  bought  upon  speculation  by  cap 
italists,  and  held  in  reserve  for  future  use.  It  might  be  that 
possession  could  not  be  obtained  through  them  of  the  mines 
claimed,  but  they  could  always  be  used  to  cloud  the  title  of  the 
occupant.  And  as  the  mines  grew  more  valuable  sham  suits 

/  could  be  brought  in  the  courts,  and  large  sums  extorted  for  com*, 
promising  and  buying  them  off. 

It  is  a  matter  of  history  that  not  one  of  the  rich  mines  upon 

"  the  Comstock  Lode  has  escaped  from  these  attacks.  In  fact, 
many  of  the  best  of  them  have  been  compelled  to  defend,  at 
vast  expense,  two,  four,  and  some  as  high  as  six  claims  made 
to  their  property,  that  were  not  known  to  exist  until  after  the 
vein  had  been  successfully  developed.  And  when  the  Terri 
torial  Courts  were  formed,  as  they  were  later,  these  tribunals 
were  crowded  and  overrun  with  immense  calendars  of  causes 
of  this  character,  known  in  the  slang  of  the  country  as  "  black 
mail  suits."  The  most  of  the  mines  being  owned  by  joint 
stock  companies,  these  claims  were  operated  in  like  manner. 
Their  promoters  formed  themselves,  or  rather  formed  their 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  75 

porters,  gardeners,  coachmen,  and  grooms,  for  the  real  parties 
kept  out  of  sight,  into  a  body  corporate,  with  its  president  and 
board  of  Directors,  and  with  its  seal.  To  this  corporation  the 
claim  was  sold  by  the  pretended  owner,  and  possessing  so 
much  property  as  capital  stock,  shares  were  issued  to  repre 
sent  it.  This  done  the  company  was  now  ready  to  commence 
operations. 

The  corporation  had  been  formed  under  the  general  laws  of 
California  for  the  nominal  purpose  of  mining  for  silver  ore  in  a 
certain  tract  of  ground  in  Washoe,  described  in  the  deed.  It 
is-  unnecessary  to  say  that  the  tract  of  ground  described  was 
some  well-known  and  valuable  mine  in  that  territory,  a  claim 
to  which  had  been  sold  to  the  black-mail  company  by  its  pre 
tended  owner  while  out  of  possession.  The  company  was  now 
ready  to  commence  working  its  mine.  But  being  out  of  pos 
session,  of  course  nothing  could  be  done  till  the  present  occu 
pants  were  ejected.  The  most  of  the  mining  in  Washoe  being 
carried  on  by  San  Francisco  incorporated  companies,  the  courts 
of  California  had  jurisdiction  of  the  persons  of  the  officers  and 
stockholders,  and  could  in  that  manner  reach  its  property. 
These  tribunals  were  therefore  also  open  to  the  claimants. 
Two  distinct  suits  in  court  against  the  parties  in  possession, 
one  commenced  in  the  courts  of  Washoe,  and  the  other  in 
California,  were  generally  the  first  mining  operations  com 
menced  by  the  newly-organized  company.  This  done  and  the 
process  served  in  both  places,  the  matter  was  allowed  to 
rest,  or  to  drag  its  slow  length  along  till  some  fortunate  circum 
stance  would  enable  them  to  make  a  compromise  that  would 
put  a  round  sum  in  the  pockets  of  the  claimants  to  settle  and 
withdraw  the  suit.  This  would  occur  in  many  ways.  Perhaps 
the  company  in  possession  would,  in  the  course  of  its  opera 
tions,  be  obliged  to  raise  money  on  mortgage,  or  perhaps  even 
to  sell  the  mine.  In  such  case,  no  one  wanting  to  buy  a  law 
suit,  and  then  bring  one  against  the  company  then  actually 
pending  in  court,  the  opposition  claimants  would  be  almost  sure 
to  get  a  round  slice  of  the  purchase-moAey  for  their  share  of 
the  spoils.  .  But  the  claims  were  more  frequently  used  for 
stock-jobbing  operations.  This  was  done  by  the  directors  of  v 
the  company  in  possession  owning,  of  course  in  the  names  of 
"  straw-men,"  a  controlling  interest  in  the  opposition  claim. 
In  this  way  they  could,  by  pressing  the  suit  vigorously,  put 
down  the  stock  of  their  own  company  when  they  wanted  to 
buy  it,  or,  by  submitting  to  .a  partial  defeat,  put  it  up  again 


76  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

when  they  wanted  to  sell.  Many  mining  directors  owned  in 
terests  in  this  way  in  a  half-dozen  of  claims  against  their  own 
mine,  using  them  as  so  many  strings  to  their  bow  when  it 
suited  their  purpose  to  affect  the  stock  in  the  market.  Indeed, 
it  was  no  unusual  thing  to  see  the  stock  of  the  company  out  of 
possession,  at  times  selling  for  prices  higher  than  the  stock  of 
the  company  in  possession.  And  so  the  two  stocks  would  be 
played  see-saw  with  at  the  pleasure  of  boards  of  rival  directors, 
who  met  and  ate  and  drank  together  each  night,  and  laid  their 
plans  for  the  following  day's  operation. 

The  Bosh  Silver-Mining  Company  had  been  organized  many 
/  months  before  the  time  of  which  we  write.  Its  promoters  had 
bought  the  ground  of  two  men,  named  Eosh.  These  men  were 
brothers,  and  alleged  themselves  to  have  been  the  original  dis 
coverers  and  locators  of  the  ground  now  occupied  by  two  mines 
on  the  Comstock  Lode.  One  of  these  mines  was  that  now  in 
the  possession  of  Mr.  Edmund  Graham,  and  the  other  was  the 
one  directly  in  front  of  it,  and  in  the  possession  of  the  Pactolus 
Silver-Mining  Company.  The  brothers  Bosh,  directly  that  they 
had  reached  the  city,  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Marvin 
Withergreen,  and  his  lawyer,  Mr.  Melchisedec  Snakeweed. 
Though  both  of  these  gentlemen  were  high  in  the  confidence 
J  of  the  Pactolus  Company,  the  one  being  its  president,  and  the 
other  a  director  and  legal  adviser,  they  did  not  hesitate  to 
organize  the  hostile  claim  and  to  prepare  it  for  a  blow  at  the 
rights  of  their  shareholders. 

In  fact  it  was  precisely  because  these  gentlemen  were  so 
situated  that  they  were  so  ready  to  take  this  step. 

"  It  will  put  us  in  velvet,"  cried  Withergreen  to  his  friend, 
Snakeweed.     "  No  matter  what  happens,  we  always  have  some-  \ 
thing  to  fall  back  upon.     It  will  be  just  the  thing  to  use  before 
election  for  bearing  the  stock,  so  that  we  can  buy  it  up." 

But  its  greatest  merit  lay  in  the  circumstance  that  the  joint 
claim  of  the  brothers  covered  the  ground  of  Mr.  Graham,  as 
well  as  that  of  the  Pactolus.  Not  that  either  Withergreen  or 
his  friend  thought  tliere  was  any  possibility  of  establishing  a 
claim  to  this  mine,  for  this  they  knew  well  enough  was,  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  impossible.  But  they  reasoned  thus  : 
"It  will  be  a  useful  weapon  to  have  under  control.  We 
can't  tell  what  may  happen,"  they  said.  "  Graham  may  be 
worried  by  debt.  Then,  if  he  wants  to  borrow  money  or  sell 
out,  we  will  stand  in  the  way.  We  will  so  cloud  his  title  that 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  77 

strangers,  who  do  not  know  anything  about  the  facts,  will  hesi 
tate  to  buy  or  lend,  and  we  must  be  bought  off." 

So  they  had  organized  two  stock  corporations,  each  entirely 
separate  from  the  other,  and  with  wholly  different  officers,  to 
which  the  claims  were  respectively  transferred  by  the  brothers 
Bosh.  The  claim  for  the  land  occupied  by  the  Pactolus  was 
sold  to  the  Vesuvius  Silver-Mining  Company,  while  the  land 
upon  which  were  the  works,  shafts,  and  drifts  of  Mr.  Graham 
was  sold  to  the  Bosh  Silver-Mining  Company.  The  two  mining 
corporations,  though  they  were  presided  over  by  different  pres- 
idents,  had  the  same  gentlemen  for  directors,  and  always  met 
for  the  transaction  of  business  on  the  same  evenings,  and  at 
the  same  place  of  meeting. 

The  president  and  secretary  being  both  absent,  Mr.  Mel- 
chisedec  Snakeweed  acted  as  president,,  and  the  Bosh  Com 
pany  being  called  to  order,  the  chairman,  as  we  have  already 
detailed,  moved  for  the  regular  business. 

When  the  meeting  reached  the  regular  order  of  business,  it 
was  not  long  in  taking  the  necessary  steps  for  commencing  a 
blackmail  suit  against  Mr.  Edmond  Graham.  'The  suit  was  to 
be  conducted  by  Mr.  Snakeweed,  and  his  partner,  Mr.  Napo 
leon  B.  Spelter,  of  Nevada,  and  was  to  be  pushed  vigorously 
unless  Mr.  Graham  would  buy  them  off  by  dividing  his  mine 
'with  them,  or  by  paying  such  sum  of  money  as  Messrs.  Snake- 
weed  and  Spelter  should  in  their  discretion  agree  upon. 

This  proceeding,  which  was  destined  in  the  end  to  involve 
Mr.  Graham  in'  almost  overwhelming  misfortunes,  being  satis 
factorily  completed,  the  meeting  adjourned. 


78  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    FAIRY    ISLAND. 

WHO  shall  attempt  to  depict  the  sensations  of  a  young  and 
innocent  girl,  commencing  at  the  first  moment  when  she  experi 
ences  a  secret,  indefinable  pleasure  in  the  society  of  some  fa 
vored  youth,  following  them  through  all  their  varying  emotions, 
till  finally  the  passion  has  ripened  to  fulness,  and  she  nourishes 
in  her  heart  a  pure  and  holy  love.  We  are  unable  to  say  who 
can  describe  this  ;  but  we  know  of  two  classes  of  people  who 
cannot  do  it.  First,  all  of  the  male  sex,  without  exception,  for 
they  have  never  felt,  and  therefore  cannot  know,  what  the  sen 
sation  is ;  and  second,  all  the  female  sex,  for  they  have  only 
had  the  experience  because  it  was  a  part  of  themselves,  and 
can  no  more  be  communicated  to  others  than  can  a  proper 
conception  of  colors  be  communicated  to  the  blind  man,  or  of 
sound  to  the  deaf. 

Within  a  few  weeks  Helen  Graham  had  passed  through  the 
transition  state  from  incipient  admiration  to  deep  and  constant 
love,  almost  without  suspecting  it  herself.  Had  any  living  crea 
ture,  her  father,  her  mother,  or  her  dearest  friend  on  earth,  asked 
her  if  she  loved  Henry  Stacey,  she  would  have  denied  it  with  as 
tonishment,  perhaps  with  alarm.  And  her  denial  would  have 
been  an  honest,  truthful  denial,  according  to  her  best  judg 
ment.  Indeed,  Blanche  Mclver  had  suspected  some  time,  with 
a  woman's  intuitive  knowledge  of  women,  that  Helen's  heart  was 
being  daily  made  captive.  And  she  had  more  than  once,  by  a 
series  of  adroitly-laid  traps,  endeavored  to  get  possession  of  the 
suspected  secret.  But  each  device  was  met  squarely  by  a  pro 
test.  She  did  not  wait  to  be  asked,  did  not  pretend  not  to  un 
derstand  the  insinuation,  but  assumed  the  question  to  have  been 
regularly  put,  and  answered  promptly  with  a  distinct  negative  ; 
always  firmly  and  decidedly,  and  as  the  fact  gradually  ap 
proached  actual  accomplishment,  more  positively,  till  now 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  7(J 

when  she  was  hopelessly  in  the  toils  of  the  boy-god,  her 
protests  against  the  bare  suspicion  had  become  so  vehement 
as  to  quite  shut  off  further  inquiry  on  the  part  of  her  friend. 
How  could  she  ever  love  any  gentleman,  she  asked ;  and  when 
Blanche  began  to  laugh  with  a  ringing,  musical  ha  !  ha !  ha !  at 
the  simplicity  of  her  "baby  queen,"  as  she  used  to  call  her, 
she  blushed  and  added, — 

"Any  gentleman,  before  he  has  at  least  given  me  reason  to 
think  that  he  loves  me.  No,  no,  dear  Blanche,  my  pride  would 
alone  save  me  from  that  supreme  humiliation  !  I  shall  at  least 
control  my  affections  till  they  can  be  saved  the  degradation 
of  going  begging  for  a  resting-place  where  they  may  not  be 
wanted." 

"Nonsense!"  interposed  her  friend;  "it  is  the  fate  of  our 
sex  to  bestow  our  love  upon  those  who  care  not  for  us,  and  to 
be  loved,  and  for  that  matter  to  be  married,  by  those  to  whom 
we  are  indifferent,  to  say  the  very  least  of  it.  Woman  is  so 
placed  that  her  heart  may  be  crushed  between  the  upper  and 
nether  millstones." 

This  she  said  bitterly,  and  Helen  looking  at  her  in  wonder  at 
this  new-born  cynicism,  without  speaking,  she  continued,— 

"  We  never  expect  to  have  those  we  love,  for  we  cannot  speak 
our  minds,  but  must  wait  till  our  lords  come  and  fling  us  their 
handkerchiefs.  Pah !  it  is  a  fearful  thing  to  be  a  woman." 

Helen  came  and  took  Blanche  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her, 
while  the  lady  having  exhausted  the  fountains  of  gall  that  had 
been  accumulating  perhaps  for  many  days,  sobbed  like  a  true 
woman  upon  her  friend's  breast.  She  had  commenced  by  trying 
to  cajole  Helen  out  of  her  harmless  secret,  and  had  ended  by 
exposing  the  wounds  in  her  own  heart.  So  the  matter  was 
dropped.  But  Helen,  though  she  as  yet  believed  herself  heart- 
free,  was  already  deeply  in  love,  more  deeply,  indeed,  than  she 
would  acknowledge  to  herself. 

"I  love?"  she  thought,  "I,  my  father's  daughter,  my  mother's 
precious  baby ;  I  love  anybody  save  them  ?  Impossible  !  1  should 
be  ashamed  to  look  them  in  the  face  if  it  were  true." 

And  yet  she  began  to  observe  her  own  feelings,  much  as  a 
scientific  physician  observes  the  symptoms  in  an  interesting 
case.  She  discovered  that  she  had  somehow  corae  to  know 
Mr.  Stacey's  step  from  that  of  all  the  other  gentlemen  who 
passed  through  the  hall  outside  of  her  door.  That  she  could 
detect  it  as  he  came  up  the  main  stairs,  three  steps  at  a  time. 
And  so  from  the  landing-place  her  heart  was  in  her  mouth,  as 


80  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

he  tripped  along,  wondering  breathlessly  and  blushing  as  she  sat 
alone,  if  he  would  call  at  her  parlor-door  or  would  he  go  on  first 
to  his  own  room.  Then  she  found  that  in  her  dreams,°somehow 
everything  she  saw  in  the  end  took  the  form  of  Mr.  Henry  Stacey. 
Was  it  a  fairy  or  an  angel  that  invaded  her  slumbering  brain,  the 
wings  dropped  speedily  off  or  sank  into  the  body  and  that  gen 
tleman  stood  before  her.  Was  it  a  beast  or  a  monster  that  dis 
turbed  her  sleep,  it  was  all  the  same ;  the  shaggy  hair  or  horrid 
scales,  as. she  looked  at  them,  changed  before  her  eyes  and  took 
on  the  appearance  of  the  tailor's  handiwork  ;  the  wriggling  tail 
divided  into  legs,  the  hideous  claws  became  toes,  and  modestly 
hid  themselves  at  the  bottom  of  neatly-fitting  boots ;  the  paws 
put  on  sleeves ;  the  flaming  head  toned  visibly  down  and  decor 
ously  took  to  itself  human  hair ;  the  fiery  eyes  grew  less  blaz 
ing  and  less  fearful,  till  at  last  the  features  and  form  of  Henry 
Stacey  appeared,  and  walked  always  lovingly  by  her  side.  Yet 
she  was  sure  she  did  not  love  him.  If  it  should  ever  become  her 
duty  to  love  anybody  besides  her  father  and  her  mother,  a  thing 
which  she  knew  could  never  occur,  then  she  often  thought  that 
not  Mr.  Henry  Stacey  exactly,  would  be  her  choice,  but  some 
body,  for  all  the  world  just  like  him.  And  she  often  wondered 
if,  should  that  time  ever  come,  would  just  such  a  gentleman  as 
he,  but  yet  not  him,  come  to  her  and  ask  her  to  love  him,  and 
when  she  did  so  to  bear  her  away  with  him  to  some  place,  she 
did  not  know  whither  and  of  which  she  had  never  heard,  some 
beautiful  spot  of  which  she  could  dream,  and  so  beautiful  that 
once  there  they  would  never  want  to  come  away  again. 

However  unsuccessful  Helen  may  have  been  in  concealing 
her  love  from  Blanche  Mclver  or  even  from  herself,  she  was 
successful  with  all  others  and  especially  with  Mr.  Henry  Stacey  < 
himself.  That  gentlemen  had  plunged  to  the  bottom  of  the  * 
waters  of  despair  the  first  moment  of  his  love,  and  had  never 
come  to  the  surface  to  so  much  as  spout  or  take  a  breath  of  air. 
She  did  not  love  him,  he  was  sure,  and  his  case  was  utterly  hope 
less.  How  could  he  hope  to  gain  the  love  of  that  splendid  crea 
ture  ?  How  could  anybody  that  he  had  ever  seen  hope  to  do  it  ? 
There  had  been  men  worthy  of  her ;  there,  no  doubt,  were  men 
still  worthy  of  her ;  true,  he  had  never  seen  them,  but  they  ex 
isted,  undoubtedly.  The  fact  of  their  potential  existence  was 
the  most  discouraging  feature  of  the  whole  matter,  they  unques 
tionably  did  exist  and,  therefore,  were  likely  to  turn  up  at  any 
moment.  He  never  entered  Helen's  parlor  and  found  a  gen 
tleman  there,  whether  an  old  gentleman  or  a  young  one,  a  rich 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  81 

one  or  a  poor  one,  without  seeing  in  that  person  a  possible 
suitor,  worthy  of  the  hand  of  the  lady  of  his  love.  He  knew 
that  he  was  fearfully  jealous,  that  his  jealousy  was  equal  to  his 
love,  and  that  that  was  as  strong  as  his  own  nature.  He  there 
fore,  in  estimating  the  worth  of  any  possible  aspirant  for  her 
hand,  always  allowed  for  that  element  in  his  own  mind. 

"I  hate  that  man,"  he  thought,  "who  I  see  now  conversing 
with  her,  and  1  do  it,  I  am  sure,  most  unjustly,  because  I  am  bad 
and  jealous  ;  the  man  is  unquestionably  a  better  man  than  I  am, 
for  he  would  not  hate  another  without  a  cause,  and  Miss  Gra 
ham  will  see  and  appreciate  that  fact.  In  doing  this  she  may 
love  him." 

He  thought  this  of  all  the  young  gentlemen  and  middle-aged 
gentlemen  in  the  habit  of  visiting  her.  Mr.  Vanderbilt  Gud 
geon,  he  felt  sure,  must  be  altogether  his  superior  for  this  very 
reason. 

"  I  literally  despise  him,  and  if  I  had  my  way  would  pitch  him 
out  of  the  window  the  first  time  I  found  him  there.  Of  course 
she  sees  the  injustice  of  this,  and  knows  that  the  young  man  has 
no  such  vindictive,  revengeful,  dark  spirit  as  I  have,  and  will  do 
him  justice." 

He  knew  that  Blanche  was  engaged  to  young  Gudgeon,  but 
that  she  made  no  secret  of  her  intention  to  never  marry  him. 
"Perhaps,"  he  thought,  "Miss  Graham  may  marry  him  to  re 
lease  her  friend  from  the  difficulty  of  her  position.  It  would  be 
noble  and  generous,  and  that  is  precisely  what  she  is."  Then 
he  saw  in  Gaptain  Plunger  a  good  man  to  whose  eccentricities 
he  had  not  done  justice.  "  He  at  least  is  not  hateful  and  jeal 
ous  as  I  am.  Why  should  she  not  marry  him  ?" 

The  idea  of  any  living  creature  of  the  male  sex,  unmarried, 
having  any  other  hope  or  ambition  in  life  than  to  obtain  the 
love  of  Helen  Graham,  if  it  had  ever  been  entertained  by  him, 
had  long  since  disappeared  from  his  mind.  If  they  had  been 
so  fortunate  as  to  marry  before  seeing  her  they  had  simply  saved 
themselves  from  a  career  of  heart-burnings  and  disappointments 
in  the  vain  but  inevitable  struggle  for  that  end.  Of  course  Mr. 
Vanderbiit  Gudgeon  was  in  love  with  Helen,  and  would  marry 
her  if  he  could  obtain  her  consent ;  so  would  Captain  Plunger, 
so  would  Dick  Nancy,  so  would  Tom  Snarl,  so  would  anybody 
in  the  world,  and  any  of  them  were  more  likely  to  be  worthy  of 
her  than  he  was.  If  Harry  saw  a  deserving  gentleman  looking 
at  Miss  Graham,  he  was  heart-broken  from  that  moment,  be 
cause  there  was  a  "hance  that  the  temptation  of  so  desirable  a 


82  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

match  might  lead  her  to  matrimony.  If  another  sort  of  man  by 
chance  found  means  to  speak  with  her,  he  was  more  miserable 
than  ever  in  the  fear  that  she  might  be  deceived  into  an  engage 
ment  with  one  unworthy  of  such  good  fortune. 

If  his  case  had  seemed  a  hopeless  one  in  view  of  his  circum 
stances  when  he  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  Helen,  each 
day  that  had  passed  since  the  excursion  to  the  ocean-beach 
had  apparently  added  to  the  evidence  already  strong  enough 
on  that  point.  Indeed,  until  that  unfortunate  affair  that  left 
them  for  several  hours  as  it  were  cast  away  upon  an  uninhab 
ited  island,  Mr.  Stacey  had  only  reasoned  himself  into  the 
notion  that  he  never  could  win  the  young  lady.  Certain  hy 
potheses  had  been  first  established  to  his  satisfaction,  and  from 
them  he  drew  his  deductions.  He  was  poor  and  friendless, 
without  prospects  in  the  future.  What  promises  could  he  give 
that  he  would  expect  the  beauty  to  accept  in  lieu  of  perform 
ance  ?  Most  certainly  he  could  not  ask  her  to  listen  to  hij 
suit,  and  he  would  not.  But  no  rebuff  had  he  received  from 
her.  Her  manner  had  been  always  the  same  ;  always  courteous, 
always  kind.  She  had  never  appeared  to  tire  of  his  presence  ; 
had  never  been  from  home  when  he  had  called.  She  did  not, 
he  thought,  appear  to  consider  him  as  of  enough  consequence 
to  be  even  ranked  amongst  her  suitors.  There  was  always,  he 
thought,  more  or  less  danger  that  she  would  settle  down  into 
the  notion  of  regarding  him  in  the  light  of  a  brother,  or  a  dear 
friend,  —  a  relationship  he  swore  in  his  heart  the  mighty  oath 
he  would  never  consent  to  occupy.  Anything  but  that.  He 
had  not  forgotten  that  he  was  a  man.  But  since  the  day  they 
were  cast  away  together,  there  had  been  an  obvious  change  in 
her  bearing.  He  saw  it  the  very  first  time  he  called  upon  her 
afterwards.  .She  did  not  deny  herself  to  him.  She  was  ever 
polite.  But  there  was  an  obvious,  a  marked  reserve. 

"At  least,"  thought  Henry,  when  he  went  away,  "  she  is  not 
about  to  ask  me  to  be  her  brother.  I  have  escaped  that,  and 
there  is  something  gained.  I  may  be  rejected,  but  I  shall  not 
be  disgraced." 

The  next  day  the  reserve  was  not  more  marked.  She  was, 
indeed,  a  little  more  cordial,  and  the  day  following,  there  was 
still  a  more  decided  thaw. 

"  This  does  not  look  so  bad,"  sighed  poor  Harry  ;  "  though 
if  this  had  been  her  manner  three  months  ago,  it  would  have 
saved  me  some  sleepless  nights." 

The  fourth  day  he  hoped  to  find  the  beauty  almost  restored 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  83 

to  her  old  toleration  of  him.  But  he  was  doomed  to  disap 
pointment.  She  was  as  cold  as  ice  ;  even  more  distant  than 
on  that  black  day  after  the  cast-away  upon  the  rocks,  when  he 
had  come  to  see  her  with  such  a  palpitating  heart.  She  no 
longer  appeared  to  be  the  even-tempered,  consistently  cordial 
young  lady  he  had  first  known.  She  seemed  friendly  and  dis 
tant  by  turns,  changing  often  from  a  frank  politeness  to  a 
pointed  reserve  and  back  again,  more  than  once  during  a  visit 
of  a  half-hour.  He  could  not  at  first  understand  it.  Could 
she  be  at  bottom  fickle,  or  even  of  an  impatient,  fretful  temper  ? 
But  that  was  not  possible.  One  look  at  her  soft  and  steady 
blue  eye,  one  note  of  her  low,  rich  voice,  would  dispel  this 
notion.  Whatever  else  she  might  be,  she  was  kind,  noble, 
good,  full  of  womanly  sympathies,  of  kindness  and  love.  At 
last  he  discovered  the  cause  of  the  change,  or  at  least  he  be 
lieved  that  he  had  done  so,  —  she  was  displeased  with  him; 
she  had  in  some  manner  fathomed  the  secret  of  his  love.  That 
is  the  cause  of  her  coldness  and  reserve;  she  has  read  me 
through  like  a  book,  and  now  knows  all.  He  knew  that  no 
one  had  told  her,  for  he  had  never  made  a  confidant.  What 
ever  happens  to  me,  he  thought,  at  least  the  secret  of  my  disap 
pointment  shall  be  my  own.  But  it  is  my  conduct  and  bearing, 
the  frequency  of  my  visits,  that  has  put  her  on  her  guard.  I 
thought  I  was  sufficiently  discreet  ;  but  I  have  not  been  ;  she 
has  suspected  all,  and  in  the  nobleness  of  her  nature  is  trying 
to  cure  me  of  a  hopeless  passion.  Knowing  that  she  can  never 
be  mine,  she  has  resolved  not  to  mislead  rne.  It  has  always 
been  said  that  a  truly  generous  woman  never  allows  a  man  to 
propose  to  her,  unless  to  be  accepted  ;  she  feels  this  to  be  true, 
and  will  not  permit  me  to  hope.  So  he  reasoned  with  himself, 
and  resolved  to  be  more  circumspect.  I  wish  to  see  her  again 
as  she  was  before  I  made  such  an  ass  of  myself  upon  the  rock  ; 
for  I  am  sure  my  conduct  was  most  absurd,  to  have  so  affected 
her.  To  do  this,  I  must  convince  her  that  I  am  not  an  aspirant 
for  her  hand.  So  he  determined  not  to  visit  Mrs.  Graham's 
parlor  so  often  ;  at  first  he  would  absent  himself  for  three  days  ; 
but  he  was  unable  to  make  good  this  resolve  ;  the  next  night 
saw  him  back  again  as  usual  ;  though  this  was  a  longer  absence 
than  ordinary  with  him,  and  Helen  had  noted  it,  and  counted 
first  the  hours  and  then  the  minutes.  When  he  came  he  gave 
no  good  excuse  ;  he  wished  her  to  see  that  he  had  none  to  give, 
that  his  absence  had  been  casual  and  voluntary  ;  he  had  been 
engaged  during  the  day;  in  the  erening  he  had  visited  the 

0K  A  ^ 


OF  THB 

TTTJTVF.'RftT 


84:  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

theatre.  Her  heart  sank  down,  she  did  not  know  why.  Courage, 
she  said  to  herself;  this  man  does  not  think  of  me,  and  no  lady 
of  pride  falls  in  love  with  a  man  first. 

Henry's  plan  had  been  to  remain  away  for  another  three 
days,  but  his  resolution  again  failed  him,  and  the  next  day  he 
was  back  in  the  parlor  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  strategy  ;  it 
appeared  to  be  working  well  enough  ;  she  certainly  seemed 
glad  to  see  him,  very  glad  to  see  him,  so  he  thought  when  he 
rirst  went  in  —  it  was  quite  like  the  old  times,  when  he  was  on 
easy  good  terms  with  her,  and  could  sit  for  hours  and  hear  "her 
sing  or  play  and  watch  the  effect  of  the  mellow  light  upon  the 
waves  of  her  golden  hair.  He  sat  a  half  hour,  and  she  sang 
for  him,  he  standing  by  her  side  at  the  piano  and  turning  the 
music.  Then  she  rose,  and  they  talked ;  but  each  minute  that 
he  tarried,  she  grew  more  reserved  and  distant.  I  see  how  it 
is,  he  thought,  1  have  again  given  her  cause  for  uneasiness ; 
she  has  taken  alarm,  and  I  must  be  off  or  I  shall  be  forbidden 
the  house  altogether.  So  he  took  leave,  swearing  to  himself 
that  this  time  he  would  only  come  back  after  a  week's  absence. 
Poor  Helen  saw  the  force  of  Blanche's  remark  upon  the  help 
lessness  of  women  in  matters  of  love.  She  spent  no  little  time 
in  her  own  room  now.  and  Matilda  more  than  once  remarked 
upon  the  redness  of  her  daughter's  eyelids.  I  do  not  love  him, 
Helen  said  to  herself,  but  if  I  did,  behold  what  would  be  mv 
fate  ;  I  should  be  allowed  to  pine  away  and  die,  like  some 
neglected  and  useless  thing.  He  cares  nothing  for  me,  and 
does  not  even  take  the  pains  to  conceal  his  indifference  ;  when 
he  fails  to  call,  as  he  used  to  do,  he  does  not  condescend  to 
give  such  an  excuse  as  common  politeness  requires  at  his 
hands  ;  soon  we  shall  have  him  saying  that  he  forgot  to  call. 
So  she  resolved  that  she  would  tear  out  her  heart  before  she 
would  love  Mr.  Harry  Stacey.  The  next  day  after  Harry's 
resolution  of  absentation,  Blanche  Mclver  met  him  in  the  hall 
of  the  hotel,  and  seized  upon  him  and  dragged  him  into  Helen's 
parlor ;  he  had  already  served  out  four  and  twenty  of  the  one 
hundred  and  sixty-eight  hours  of  self-denial  that  he  had  imposed 
upon  himself  when  last  he  had  visited  her.  The  trial  had  been 
so  great  that  Blanche  found  but  little  trouble  in  overcoming 
his  objection  to  enter  Helen's  room.  She  plumped  him  down 
in  a  chair;  then  she  said,  "We  have  all  been  pleading  and 
coaxing,  and  praying  this  nun  to  lay  aside  the  habit  of  her 
order  for  one  night,  and  to  go  to  General  Chainshot's  ball,  but 
without  success ;  let  us  see  what  effect  you  can  have  upon  the 


ROBERT   G  RE  A  THO  USE.  85 

recluse  ;  now  fire  away;  do  you  hear?"  The  reader  has  already 
been  informed  of  the  effect  produced  by  the  efforts  of  Mr. 
Stacey.  Though  he  said  but  little,  the  young  lady  appeared 
from  that  moment  to  be  more  festively  inclined.  The  next 
day  she  promised  to  go.  Somehow,  from  that  moment  the 
visits  of  Mr.  Stacey  were  more  frequent  and  the  reception  of 
Helen  grew  more'  like  her  old  receptions  of  him.  The  fact 
was  that  the  Grahams  were  to  leave  for  Washoe  in  a  few  days, 
and  the  impending  separation  caused  them  both  to  throw  off 
a  little  of  the  reserve  that  had  hitherto  stood  in  the  way  of  even, 
a  kindly  meeting.  At  the  ball,  both  were  themselves  again ; 
indeed,  they  were  more ;  it  was  the  day  of  the  rock  come  back 
to  them.  At  times,  poor  Harry  would  awake  from  his  dream 
of  bliss,  and  say  to  himself,  I  will  have  to  pay  for  all  of  this  to 
morrow.  She  will  not  be  at  home  to  me  for  at  least  a  week, 
he  thought;  so  I  will  enjoy  this  as  it  goes.  Helen's  position 
in  the  house  had  been  one  of  such  seclusion  that  the  young 
gentlemen  who  might  have  paid  her  some  attention  at  the 
ball  did  not  come  forward.  They  were  repelled  by  the  lady's 
proud  beauty  and  bearing,  which  appeared  to  say  to  them  all, 
as  poor  Harry  thought  it  so  often  said  to  him,  "  Go  away;  I 
am  not  for  such  as  you." 

So  the  young  couple  were  together  for  the  evening  as  com 
pletely  as  upon  the  day  they  were  castaways  upon  the  same 
rock.  She  forgot  all  her  resolutions  about  never  loving  until 
she  felt  sure  of  being  beloved.  Indeed,  she  forgot  that  there 
was  such  a  thing  in  the  world  as  love.  She  only  remembered 
that  he  who  was  her  beau-ideal  of  the  man  she  would  love, 
when  permitted  to  love  anyone,  was  by  her  side,  and  that  she 
was  happy.  How  happy  she  did  not  stop  to  consider.  She 
had  never  been  so  happy  before  in  her  waking  moments. 
She  had  dreamed  more  than  once  that  the  time  for  her  to  love 
had  arrived,  and  that  a  man,  like  the  one  by  her  side,  had 
come  and  poured  into  her  ear  the  story  of  his  love,  and  had 
then  taken  her  away,  she  did  not  know  whither,  for  she  had  not 
asked.  It  had  been  enough  for  her  to  know  that  she  was  with 
him.  So  they  walked  up  and  down  together,  Harry  moving 
with  the  lofty  step  that  only  the  man  can  take  who  knows  that 
he  has  leaning  upon  his  arm  the  belle  of  the  ball-room,  and  is 
the  envy  of  a  hundred  gallant  observers.  But  the  hundred  gal 
lant  observers  were  nothing  to  the  young  couple.  Had  they 
been  stocks  or  stones  or  growing  trees  that  stood  around  them 
in  their  promenade,  they  could  not  have  been  passed  by  with 


86  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

more  utter  indifference.  To  the  two  it  was  Love's  young 
dream.  Each  felt  that  to-morrow  morning  they  would  be 
rudely  awakened  from  it  all.  Each  one  of  them  only  knew  of 
the  joy  in  his  or  her  own  soul,  but  did  not  suspect  of  what  was 
in  the  mind  of  the  other.  Each  felt  that  the  ball  was  an  ex 
traordinary  occasion,  not  calling  for  special  watchfulness,  to  be 
followed  by  a  speedy  separation  that  would  bring  it  all  to  an 
end  with  a  sudden  plunge  into  the  black  gulf  of  disappointment 
that  surely  lay  yawning  beyond.  To-morrow,  thought  Helen, 
he  will  be  occupied  with  business ;  at  night  he  will  go  to  the 
theatre ;  on  Monday  we  shall  go  away.  I  may  not  see  him 
again.  The  little  pleasure  I  take  now  will  not,  I  hope,  be 
brought  in  judgment  against  me  hereafter.  He  is  the  hand 
somest  gentleman  in  the  room  and  has  the  loftiest  bearing,  and 
his  voice  is  low  and  sweet,  and  his  carriage  manly  and  noble. 
Why  should  I  not  go  with  him  in  preference  to  the  others,  as  I 
am  going  away,  and  this  one  evening  cannot  be  misconstrued. 
And  so  she  did  go  with  him,  and  went  with  nobody  else,  spoke 
to  nobody  else,  looked  at  nobody  else,  as  Blanche  Mclver  told 
her,  when  the  ball  was  over  and  they  were  once  more  up-stairs 
in  their  own  rooms.  Helen  blushed  at  the  accusation. 

"  Did  I  speak  to  no  one  else  ? "  she  stammered.  "  Well, 
who  else  was  there  for  me  to  speak  with  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  am 
sure  I  know  no  one  but  him." 

"You  gave  no  one  else  a  chance  to  speak  to  you,  Baby," 
answered  her  friend.  "If  you  had,  they  would  have  come 
round  fast  enough,  I  can  tell  you.  Your  conduct  said .  plainly 
enough  that  you  were  content  as  you  were,  so  the  boys  stood 
back,  like  sensible  fellows." 

"  I  am  sure,"  cried  Helen,  "  that  I  paid  no  marked  attention'^ 
to  Mr.  Stacey.     At  least,  I  did  not  intend  to  do  so.     I  think, 
Blanche,  you  are  very  severe  with  me  ; "    and  she  burst  into 
tears. 

"  There,  there  !  now  we  are  having  a  crying  Baby,  indeed," 
says  Blanche,  in  alarm.  "Now  don't;"  and  she  ran  to  her 
friend,  and  kissed  her  and  petted  her  and  dried  her  tears.  "  I 
know  you  did  not  intend  to  pay  marked  attention  to  anybody, 
darling  Baby  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  nobody  observed  it,  except 
only  cross,  envious  me ;  and  I  would  not  have  done  so,  had  I 
not  been  an  ill-natured,  jealous  cat.  Now,  don't  cry." 

Helen  was  satisfied  with  the  explanation.  She  was  sure  she 
did  not  intend  to  devote  herself  to  any  gentleman  for  the  even 
ing,  especially  to  Mr.  Henry  Stacey,  of  all  men  in  the  world. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  87 

If  she  had  appeared  to  be  doing  so,  she  was  sorry,  very  sorry, 
and  would  never  be  guilty  of  the  like  again. 

Blanche  had  been  entirely  delighted  to  see  what  she  supposed 
was  a  decided  flirtation  going  on  between  the  two.  She  had 
always  favored  Harry  as  a  suitor  for  her  "  Precious  Baby,"  as 
she  called  her  friend,  in  imitation  of  Matilda,  and  besides,  her 
conduct  during  the  evening  had  resulted  in  keeping  Vanderbilt 
Gudgeon  at  a  distance,  greatly  to  his  chagrin.  This  alone  was 
enough  pleasure  to  Blanche,  who  delighted  above  all  things  in 
circumventing  that  gentleman's  plans.  But  she  was  really  sorry 
that  Helen  had  not  intended  it.  If  it  had  been  a  mere  acci 
dent,  growing  out  of  thoughtless  indifference  to  the  society  of 
all  gentlemen  alike,  then,  of  course,  her  friend  Harry  was  mak 
ing,  she  felt  sure,  but  little  progress  in  the  young  lady's  affec 
tions.  And,  though  Harry  had  never  confided  his  love  to  her, 
she  was  too  good  a  judge  of  character  to  mistake  the  symptoms 
of  his  love.  She  felt  sure  that,  at  least,  he  was  deeply  in  love 
with  Miss  Helen. 

After  talking  an  hour  over  all  that  had  taken  place  at  the 
ball,  the  young  ladies  kissed  each  other  good-night,  and  Blanche 
stole  away  to  her  own  door  and  to  bed.  Long  before  sleep 
visited  the  eyes  of  Helen,  she  had  renewed  her  resolution,  so 
often  made,  so  often  forgotten,  never  to  love  man  till  she  knew 
that  she  was  herself  beloved  by  him. 

The  ball  had  been  an  exceptional  occasion,  and  she  had 
forgotten  herself,  she  now  thought,  especially  as  Blanche  had 
observed  her  manner  towards  Mr.  Stacey.  To-morrow  she 
would  be  true  to  herself  again.  Let  him  come  to  me  then,  and 
I  will  show  him  how  a  high-spirited  lady  can  treat  handsome 
gentlemen,  who  visit  them  to  amuse  themselves  and  pass  away 
time.  But,  however  firm  her  waking  intentions  may  have  been, 
she  forgot  them  all  in  her  sleep.  For  in  her  dreams  her  future 
lover  came,  the  one  she  was  to  have  when  the  time  should 
come  for  her  to  love.  It  was  Henry  Stacey' s  own  self.  He 
came  in  a  beautiful  painted  boat.  She  saw  him  coming  over 
the  waters  from  the  island  upon  which  they  had  been  cast  away 
together,  she  sitting  the  while  upon  a  green  bank  upon  the 
shore.  But  the  island  was  not  now  in  the  ocean.  It  had  been 
removed,  and  was  in  the  lake  near  to  her  old  home  at  Wilming 
ton.  But  the  lake  had  grown,  and  spread  out  till  it  was  like  a 
sea.  She  sat  in  the  same  spot  under  the  trees  where,  with  her 
mother,  she  had  so  often  sat.  When  he  reached  tb.e  shore,  he 
left  his  b  )at  and  came  to  her  side  and  sat  down  at  her  feet. 


88  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

He  was  dressed  as  he  was  on  that  day  he  sat  upon  the  rock  in 
the  ocean.  He  did  not  speak  ;  he  only  looked  at  her ;  but  she 
understood  all.  Through  his  open  eyes,  she  could  read  the 
past  and  the  present.  He  had  always  loved  her.  She  had 
been  his  guardian  spirit,  his  angel  of  light,  his  own  life,  so  his 
soul  said,  speaking  to  her.  Would  she  go  with  him  ?  Whither  ? 
she  asked  ;  but  without  moving  her  lips.  He  did  not  answer, 
but  pointed  out  upon  the  lake,  to  the  island  upon  which  the} 
had  spent  their  first  happy  day.  But  the  island  had  changed 
It  was  a  fairy  isle.  There,  as  in  the  background  of  some  beau 
tiful  tableau  in  a  stage-scene,  she  saw  this  now  beautiful  fairy 
isle,  and  it  seemed  to  float  upon  the  water.  It  drifted  nearer 
and  nearer  to  them,  till,  at  last,  she  could  see  that  it  was  car 
peted  with  green  grass,  and  shaded  with  beautiful  trees  of  all 
sorts  —  spreading  palms  and  flowering  vines  and  incense-bearing 
shrubs.  The  sound  of  the  twittering  of  birds  was  already  grow 
ing  more  and  more  distinct,  when  suddenly  —  while  her  eyes 
still  followed  the  pointing  finger  of  her  lover  and  were  fixed 
intently  upon  the  approaching  scene  of  fairy  beauty  —  a  black 
curtain  was  let  down  from  above,  as  if  in  a  theatre ;  slowly  it 
descended,  but  surely,  shutting  out  first  the  tops  of  the  palm- 
trees,  then  the  sweet  vines  and  the  shrubs,  till  at  last,  even  the 
carpet  of  living  green  had  been  swallowed  up  by  the  funereal 
cloth,  still  descending,  remorseless  as  fate  itself,  and  all  was 
black  as  death.  Startled  at  the  sudden  change,  she  turned  her 
eyes  to  seek  an  explanation  of  her  lover  at  her  feet.  But  she 
sought  him  in  vain.  He  was  no  longer  there.  And  as  she 
searched  for  him,  her  blood  was  curdled  in  her  veins  with  fear  ; 
for  where  he  had  lain  at  her  feet  but  a  moment  before  was  an 
other.  Not  the  noble  figure  of  him  she  loved  so  dearly.  He  was 
gone,  and  in  his  place  was  the  wriggling,  squirming  figure  of  an 
indescribable  monster,  having  the  body  of  a  toad,  the  tail  of  a 
serpent,  and  the  face  of  a  man ;  not  the  face  of  a  stranger  that 
might  be  for  good  or  for  bad,  but  the  face  of  a  man,  the  most 
revolting,  the  most  baleful,  of  human  faces  to  Helen  Graham, 
—  it  was  the  face  of  Enoch  Bloodstone. 

Mr.  Graham  had  retired  before  his  daughter,  leaving  her  still 
conversing  with  Blanche  Mclver.  He  had  slept,  he  did  not 
know  how  long,  when  he  was  awakened  by  fearful  screams  pro 
ceeding  from  the  apartment  of  Helen.  To  seize  a  light  and 
rush  to  her  room  was  but  the  work  of  an  instant.  He  found 
her  standing  by  the  bedside  holding  to  the  canopy,  the  picture 
of  fright  itself. 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  89 

'j  What  is  the  matter,  Precious  Baby  ? "  cried  the  mother, 
rushing  into  the  room  and  seizing  her  child,  even  before  Mr. 
Graham  could  reach  her.  But  obtaining  no  answer,  they  car 
ried  her  into  their  own  room,  and  laid  her  in  their  bed.  She 
was  soon  better,  so  that  a  flood  of  tears  and  a  burst  of  sobs 
came  to  her  relief. 

"  It  was  only  a  dream,  dear  mamma,"  she  said,  in  the  midst 
of  her  sobs.  ;' A  fearful,  horrid  dream.  Forgive  your  Baby  for 
disturbing  you  in  this  childish  way.  I  fear  I  shall  never  be  a 
woman  and  learn  to  sleep  away  from  you." 

At  last  she  was  comforted.  Mr.  Graham  exchanged  beds 
with  his  daughter,  and  in  her  mother's  arms,  where  she  had  so 
often  forgotten  her  childish  griefs,  she  again  sank  into  a  health 
ful  and  refreshing  slumber,  this  time  not  to  be  disturbed. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE    BLACK-MAIL    SUIT. 

WHEN  the  morning  came,  Matilda  did  not  find  her  daughter 
the  worse  for  the  fright  of  the  night  before,  as  she  feared  would 
be  the  case.  No  one  thought  of  asking  Helen  the  special 
character  of  the  vision,  or  dream,  or  nightmare  that  had  so 
disturbed  her  slumbers ;  nor,  had  any  done  so,  would  she  have 
had  the  courage  to  relate  it. 

"  It  was  the  effect  of  the  unusual  excitement  of  the  ball," 
said  the  mother.  "  Besides,  children  are  always  subject  to 
frightful  dreams  and  nightmares  and  like  startling  sensations  in 
their  sleep." 

Matilda  had  not  come  to  consider  her  daughter  other  than  as 
a  child,  and  subject  to  all  children's  ailments.  Mrs.  Graham 
had  never  been  able  to  note  the  change  from  childhood  to 
womanhood  that  was  coming  over  her  daughter.  What  all  the 
world  saw  plainly,  only  the  mother  was  blind  to.  To  her, 
Helen  was  always  the  infant  she  had  first  known  her.  She 
loved  to  call  her  daughter  "  Precious  Baby."  No  other  name 
was  so  sweet  as  that  first  one,  and  to  Matilda  none  appeared 
so  appropriate.  Blanche  Mclver  made  some  progress  in  laugh 
ing  her  intd ,  at  least,  outwardly  recognizing  the  potent  fact. 


90  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"  Poor  Baby,"  cried  that  young  lady,  on  hearing  this  Jast 
suggestion.  "  Her  disorder  is  easily  to  be  seen  ;  she  is  teeth 
ing  :  open  your  mouth,  honey,"  laughed  the  tormentor,  "  and 
let  me  see."  Then  she  seized  the  beauty  by  the  chin  and  back 
of  the  head,  and  declared  she  must  examine  her  mouth,  and 
see  if  her  little  grinders  were  all  coming  through  in  regular  and 
proper  place.  Helen  struggled  to  free  herself,  but  in  vain.  "  I 
have  it!"  shrieked  Blanche.  "  It  was  that  fellow,"  pointing  to 
a  double  molar  in  the  back  of  the  lady's  now  open  mouth. 
"  He  came  through  last  night  with  a  jump  and  a  roar  all  at 
once,  as  such  a  splendid  tooth  should  come ;  did  he  not, 
Baby  ?  There,  there,  shut  it  up  again ;  she  shall  have  some  of 
Mrs.  Winslow's  syrup,  in  the  shape  of  a  nice  young  man,  and 
then  the  teeth  will  not  trouble  her  any  more  ! " 

"  Go  away,"  cried  the  now  indignant  beauty.  "  How  can 
you  talk  so  ?  I  do  not  love  you ! "  But  she  did  love  her, 
nevertheless,  and  told  her  so,  with  a  dozen  kisses,  two  minutes 
after,  when  they  were  alone.  But  with  all  her  love  for  her 
friend,  she  did  not  breathe  to  her  the  secret  of  her  dream,  of 
her  horrid  dream ;  though  it  still  hung  about  her,  ever  present, 
haunting  her  by  day,  as  it  had  frozen  her  blood  at  night.  She 
loved  her  friend,  and  had  the  most  unbounded  confidence  in 
her  prudence  and  discretion,  well  knowing  that  when  needed, 
the  stock  was  always  sufficient ;  but  she  had  nothing  that  she 
could  tell  that  would  not,  she  thought,  tend  to  lose  her  the 
good  opinion  of  that  friend.  Helen  felt  like  a  guilty  thing. 
She  had  at  last  become  conscious  of  the  fact  that  she  had  lost 
her  heart.  The  dream  of  the  night  before,  and  its  effect  upon 
her,  were  sensations  too  distinct  for  even  the  poor  young  lady 
to  longer  deceive  herself.  She  was  in  love,  and  with  one  who 
was  indifferent  to  her  !  She  had  forgotten  the  duty  of  a  maiden 
to  guard  her  heart  as  a  budding  flower  that  can  be  given  but 
once ;  and,  like  a  wanton,  had  scattered  its  withering  petals  to 
the  passing  wind.  This  was  no  secret  requiring  two  for  its 
keeping,  but  was  a  burning  shame  to  be  concealed  and  hidden 
away  out  of  sight.  Had  Helen  ever  received  an  intimation  or 
hint  that  Harry's  love  was  keeping  pace  with  her  own,  or  was 
bounding  furiously  in  advance  of  it,  she  could  not  have  waited 
for  Blanche  to  come  to  her,  but  must  have  flown  to  her  friend, 
to  fall  upon  her  breast  and  sprinkle  it  with  happy  tears  like 
perfumed  water,  while  she  poured  out  the  story  of  her  bound 
less  hope  and  joy.  So  Blanche,  like  the  others,  remained  in 
ignorance  of  the  secret  that  had  broken  the  rest  of  Matilda's 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  91 

precious  baby,  and  could  only  surmise,  and  wish,  and  laugh. 
In  the  afternoon,  visitors  came  dropping  in  upon  the  Gra 
hams,  all  charged  to  the  muzzle  with  the  gossip  of  the  ball. 
The  little  parlor  was  filled  to  overflowing ;  everybody  in  the 
hotel  called  in  the  course  of  the  day.  The  Gudgeons,  father, 
mother,  and  heir-apparent,  all  came  in  grand  ceremony  ;  then 
the  Mclvers  came ;  then  General  Chainshot,  and  Major  Shrap 
nel,  his  chief  aide-de-camp,  waiving  etiquette,  looked  in  to  see 
if  Helen  had  slept  well  after  the  ball.  Captain  Plunger,  and 
Colonel  Hornspout  spent  the  afternoon,  greatly  to  their  joint 
and  several  delight,  for  more  than  fifty  shares  of  King  Midas 
changed  hands  during  the  sitting,  and  as  for  the  Poem  on  the 
Constitution,  it  was  like  an  endless  chain  constantly  swinging 
around  in  rythmical  cycles.  Even  the  story  of  the  Indiana 
play  actor  was  listened  to  more  than  once  quite  to  the  end. 
Tom  Snarl  called,  and  stayed  an  hour  ;  and,  for  him,  was  quite 
in  a  pleasant  mood.  Dick  Nancy  looked  in,  but  seeing  per 
sons  present  of  the  male  sex,  soon  took  himself  away.  Many 
others  called  whose  names  are  unknown  to  the  reader,  —  and 
Mr.  Harry  Stacey  called,  — and  while  the  room  was  filled  with 
all  of  these  named  and  unnamed,  the  sheriff  of  San  Francisco 
called.  He  had  come,  he  said,  with  an  apology,  in  the  dis 
charge  of  a  duty  imposed  upon  him  by  the  law.  It  was  not  a 
very  serious  one,  however,  he  said,  for  he  did  not  think  the 
gentleman  would  find  it  to  be  a  matter  of  much  consequence. 
He  had  come  to  serve  Mr.  Graham  with  a  summons ;  this,  he 
said,  and  handed  that  gentleman  a  paper.  "  Depend  upon  it," 
he  added,  turning  to  the  ladies,  who  looked  for  a  moment  with 
alarm  upon  the  proceeding,  "it  is  not  a  matter  to  be  frightened 
at.  I  am  obliged  to  serve  these  papers  every  day,  and  know 
what  they  are  from  the  very  backs  of  them.  It  is  only  a 
'black-mail'  case,  sir;  you  need  give  yourself  no  uneasiness. 
I  know  that,  by  the  name  of  the  lawyers  on  the  back 
of  the  document.  'Snakeweed  and  Bittergin,  attorneys  for 
plaintiff/  —  that  is  always  enough  for  me  !  Good-morning,  ladies. 
Good-morning,  Mr.  Graham,"  and  the  sheriff  politely  retired. 

Mr.  Graham  opened  the  paper  in  his  anxiety,  without  asking 
permission  of  his  guests,  and  hastily  glanced  at  its  contents. 
It  was  simple  enough.  It  commanded  him  in  substance  to 
answer  before  the  Honorable  Judge  of  the  General  Superior 
Court,  within  ten  days'  time,  why  it  was  that  he  withheld  a 
certain  mine  in  Washoe,  from  the  "Bosh  Silver-Mining  Com 
pany,"  and  to  fail  not,  lest  judgment  be  given  against  him  by 


y2  ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE. 

default,  for  said  mine,  together  with  other  penalties  of  a  serious 

character. 

"  *  The    Bosh  Silver-Mining  Company,' "  said  he,  abruptly, 

turning  to  his  visitors.      "  What  company  is  that  ?  " 

"Some  black-mail  affair,  I  will  engage,"  answered  Mr.  Eben- 

ezer  Gudgeon,  who,  with  his  wife,  had  been  until  that  moment 

occupied  with  a  full  account  of  the  grand  ball  at  the  French 

Court,  at  which  the  famous  dress  of  the  lady  had  first  done 

service. 

Mr.  Graham  was  evidently  annoyed.     He  had  never  before 

been  a  party  to  a  law  suit  of  any  sort,  and  the  matter,  to  him, 

was  serious. 

"  What  kind  of  a  suit,  is  a  black-mail  suit  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  black-mail  suit,"  answered  Mr.  Gudgeon,  who  had  already 

returned  to  the  more  important  matter  of  his  wife's  court-dress; 

"do  you  not  know  what  that  is?     I  will  tell  you."     Here  he 

turned,  and  drew  his  seat  towards  that  of  Mr.  Graham.      "  I 

am  sorry  to  say,  my  dear  sir,  that  a  city  where  I  have  resided, 
and  done  a  most  respectable  and  lucrative  business  for  more 
than  thirteen  years,  is  cursed  with  a  set  of  unprincipled  scoun 
drels  who  prosecute  black-mail  suits  against  all  sorts  of  pro 
perty,  —  for  example  :  they  watch  a  mine  until  it  has  been 
developed,  at  vast  expense,  by  the  man  in  possession,  when 
they  spring  upon  its  owner  some  sort  of  a  fraudulent  claim 
which  ^has  been  cooked  up  by  themselves,  and  by  bringing  a 
law  suit  against  him,  force  him  to  pay  them  often  considerable 
sums  of  money  for  a  settlement,  or,  if  he  refuses,  they  ruin  him 
by  an  expensive  litigation.  It  is  a  burning  disgrace  to  our  city, 
but  I  am  obliged  to  confess,  in  the  interest  of  truth,  that  such 
things  do  exist.  And  it  appears  that  you  are  to  be  made  a 
victim  to  their  atrocious  schemes." 

"  But,  good  gracious,  my  dear  Mr.  Gudgeon,  nobody  in  the 
world  can  have  any  claim  to  my  mine  !  I  was  almost  the  first 
man  to  enter  the  territory  after  the  original  silver  discoveries  ; 
certainly,  as  soon  as  any  after  that  event,  and  no  one  has  ever 
pretended  to  dispute  my  title." 

'*  Oh,  that  is  not  of  the  slightest  consequence  to  the  black 
mailer,  my  dear  Mr.  Graham.  He  will  prove,  at  the  trial,  by 
a  legion  of  witnesses,  that  his  vendor  slept  upon  the  ground 
the  night  before  you,  and  that  the  reason  he  was  not  upon  the 
spot  when  you  came,  was  some  unavoidable,  some  overwhelm 
ing  necessity,  some  force  majeure ;  an  attack  of  Indians,  for 
example  ;  and  all  titles,  resting  as  they  do,  in  matters  of  proof, 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  93 

aside  from  paper  or  documents,  the  mine  indeed  belonging  to 
the  first  possessor,  as  a  naked  question  of  fact  there  will  always 
be  more  or  less  danger  to  your  rights  if  you  submit  to  a  trial.'3 

"  But  the  matter  is  utterly  impossible.  I  was  there  for 
weeks  before  any  one  came  to  look  at  the  place  even.  There 
can  be  no  such  witnesses,  for  none  were  on  the  spot  at  that 
time  to  testify  to  that  or  anything  else." 

"  Ah  !  I  perceive  you  are  very  simple  in  such  matters,  my 
dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Gudgeon  with  a  smile  of  evident  compas 
sion.  "  That  will  not  avail  you,  sir,  in  the  least.  These  black 
mail  claims,  we  all  know,  to  our  sorrow,  have  absolutely  no 
merits  whatever,  and  so  they  do  not  pretend  to  have,  but  rely 
wholly  upon  other  means  of  success." 

"  What  else  can  they  depend  upon  ?  "  asked  the  now  thor 
oughly  alarmed  gentleman. 

"  Many  things,  my  dear  Mr.  Graham.  In  the  first  place, 
they  distribute  the  stock  in  vast  abundance  throughout  the  f 
community.  This  falls  into  the  hands  of  witnesses,  of  jurors,^ 
and  officers  of  the  court.  Then  the  wives  of  judges  have  shares 
given  them  by  the  ream.  Let  me  see  that  paper."  Mr.  Gud 
geon  took  the  summons,  and  examined  it  carefully.  "  Without 
knowing  anything  of  the  facts,  I  could  almost  tell  you  where 
that  suit  originated.  But  it  is  not  necessary  to  do  that ;  it  is 
enough,  to  say,  that  it  is  framed  in  such  a  way  that  its  final 
determination  will  come  before  Judge  Bung.  Such  being  the 
case,  any  child  can  tell  you  that  Commodore  Plug^is  a  large 
holder  of  its  stock.  Judge  Bung,  you  must  know,  is  a  single 
gentleman,  and  a  warm  friend  of  the  family  of  the  Commodore. 
A  plate  is  always  laid  for  him  at  the  table  of  that  hospitable 
gentleman  and  leader  of  high  life,  and  his  influence  with  the 
Judge  is  thought  to  be  very  considerable." 

"  But,  bless  me  ! "  cried  Mr.  Graham,  "am  I  to  be  robbed 
of  my  mine  because  Judge  Bung  dines  every  day  with  Commo 
dore  Plug?" 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear  sir,  not  at  all  !  You  do  not  appear  to 
understand  it.  This  claim  can  always  be  bought  off  for  a  few 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  then  you  are  free." 

"Free  for  what?  free  to  be  attacked  by  another  gang  of 
scoundrels ! " 

"  No,  no  !   free   to  go  on  without  interruption.      Why,  my 
dear   sir,  every  successful  mine   on  the  Comstock   Lode  has- 
been  black-mailed  at  one  time  or  another  in    just  that  way, 
and  they  are  glad  to  settle  and  have  done  with  the  matter.     In- 


94  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

deed,  not  above  a  week  ago,  I  happened  to  be  in  conversation 
with  that  eminent  banker,  Mr.  Solomon  Comet,  who  made  the 
remark  in  my  presence,  'that  black-mail  suits  were  a  positive 
mercy  to  the  bankers.  They  were  like  the  high  winds  that  blew 
down  the  blasted  fruit  and  let  the  healthy  grow  to  greater  per 
fection.'  That  was  that  great  man's  very  poetical  figure  of 
speech.  Fine,  was  it  not?" 

Seeing  that  Mr.  Graham  made  no  reply,  Mr.  Gudgeon  con 
tinued,  — 

"  Comet  says  that  he  always  compromises  with  them  at  the 
first  offer,  and  has  done  with  them.  '  I  want  no  litigation '  is 
Comet's  motto,  'and  will  always  pay  to  avoid  it.'  " 

"But,  my  dear  Mr.  Gudgeon,  is  not  that  an  invitation  to  dis 
honest  men  to  come  and  attack  you  ?  " 

"Well,  it  may  have  that  look  at  first.  But  what  of  that? 
You  purchase  ease,  at  least,  and  that  is  worth  much  more  than 
money.  I  do  assure  you  it  is,  Mr.  Graham." 

Mr.  Graham  had  known  this  long  before ;  but,  poor  fellow, 
he  had  almost  bidden  adieu  to  both  the  one  and  the  other. 

"  Then  you  would  advise  me  to  compromise  and  settle  the 
claim,  Mr.  Gudgeon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  by  all  means  !  Clearly  so,  my  dear  friend !  Settle 
with  them  at  the  first  offer,  if  possible  ;  it  is  generally  the  best 
one  they  ever  make." 

Here  the  Gudgeons,  having  finished  their  call,  marched  away 
to  the  room  of  General  Chainshot  to  answer  some  questions 
which  they  hoped  would  be  put  by  his  lady,  with  respect  to 
the  method  of  dressing  at  the  French  and  other  European 
courts. 

The  room  of  Mr.  Graham  was  now  empty  of  all  except  th^ 
family  and  Mr.  Henry  Stacey. 

"  Look  as  that  paper,  Stacey,"  said  the  perplexed  gentleman, 
"  and  tell  me  what  to  do  about  it." 

"  I  see  already  all  that  is  necessary  to  know,  Mr.  Graham. 
I  have  now  been  in  this  country  long  enough  to  learn  some- 
tiling  of  the  customs.  The  suit  is  of  course  annoying,  but  that 
is  all.  I  should  pay  no  attention  to  it,  except  to  take  such 
steps  as  to  prevent  any  advantage  being  taken  by  default. 
Mr.  Gudgeon  is,  no  doubt,  too  easily  alarmed  at  such  matters. 
The  courts  are  full  of  black-mail  suits,  it  is  true,  but  as  a  gen 
eral  rule  nothing  comes  of  them  in  the  end." 

"  That  is  comforting  at  the  least,"  said  Mr.  Graham,  taking  a 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  95 

long  breath.  "  You  are  a  lawyer,  Mr.  Stacey  ;  oblige  me  by 
taking  that  paper  and  doing  what  is  necessary  to  be  done." 

Harry  blushed. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  interposed,  "I  do  not  feel  that  it  would 
be  quite  professional  to  take  a  case  under  such  circumstances. 
Being  here  a  visitor,  you  know,  your  regular  counsel  ought  to  be 
called  in." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Graham,  "don't  talk  to  me  in 
that  way  !  I  never  had  a  lawyer  in  my  life,  and  hoped  I  should 
never  need  one.  Not  a  word  !  Oblige  me  as  a  favor,  and  to 
prevent  me  falling  into  worse  hands.  Just  slip  it  into  your 
pocket,  and  when  you  get  time  attend  to  it.  Now,  please  do 
so." 

Harry  put  the  paper  into  his  pocket  the  more  willingly  as 
Helen  and  her  mother,  who  had  understood  that  the  conversa 
tion  of  Mr.  Graham  both  with  Mr.  Gudgeon  and  Mr.  Stacey 
was  upon  business  matters,  had  gone  into  the  other  room  for  a 
moment  and  did  not  know  what  had  taken  place.  And  so 
Henry  Stacey  became  the  legal  adviser  of  Mr.  Graham ;  but 
without  the  knowledge,  at  least  at  that  time,  of  the  family. 

The  father  had  already  quite  surmounted  his  jealousy  of  the 
young  lawyer,  if  he  had  ever  had  any.  The  notion  that  there 
existed  a  passion  between  Harry  and  Helen  had  passed  from 
his  mind  almost  as  soon  as  it  had  been  formed.  Not  that  now 
he  would  have  objected  especially,  for  he  had  gradually  began 
to  respect  and  admire  the  young  man  for  his  evident  intelligence 
and  modesty. 

"He  will  make  his  mark  some  day,"  thought  Mr  Graham. 
"  He  makes  me  think  of  myself  at  the  same  age.  God  grant 
the  poor  fellow  may  not  be  so  buffeted  by  an  angry  fate  as  I 
have  been." 

But  one  chief  reason  for  Mr.  Graham's  growing  good-feeling 
for  the  young  man  was,  without  doubt,  the  fact  that  Harry  had 
already  succeeded  in  making  a  warm  friend  of  Mrs.  Graham. 
Matilda  had  admired  him  from  the  first  day  she  saw  him  ;  and 
each  moment  passed  in  his  company  had  but  confirmed  her 
good  opinion.  She  too  had  found  in  the  young  man  a  striking 
resemblance  to  her  husband  in  his  younger  days.  That  circum 
stance  alone  was  enough  to  endear  him  to  Mrs.  Graham.  So 
he  was  already,  at  the  first  glance,  on  the  high  road  to  a  place 
in  her  warmest  friendship.  This  grew  and  increased,  till  the 
mother  more  than  once  thought  of  him  in  a  nearer  relationship 
than  that  of  i  friend.  When  her  baby's  destiny  should  declare 


96  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

itself,  though  remote  be  the  day,  it  would  be  comforting  to  the 
mother's  heart  could  it  take  this  form.  When  she  saw  them 
stand  up  together  side-by-side,  as  would  sometimes  occur,  she 
often  found  herself  looking  as  at  a  picture  of  her  own  happy 
bridal  days,  of  a  honeymoon  far  away  in  the  dim  past,  but  still 
fresh  and  green  in  the  memory  of  two  loving  hearts.  But  she 
never  so  much  as  hinted  this  to  her  daughter. 

"  They  may  say  what  they  please  against  the  American  folly 
of  letting  girls  choose  their  own  husbands,"  said  Matilda,  to  her 
self ;  "  I  think  my  own  country's  customs  the  best.  I  married 
when  I  loved  and  have  never  regretted  it,  and  my  baby  shall  do 
the  same." 

A  word  from  her  might,  she  felt,  influence  Helen  to  do  some 
thing  that  otherwise  she  might  not  do.  The  young  gentleman 
was  always  welcome.  That  he  was  in  love  with  her  daughter 
the  mother  did  not  need  to  be  told.  All  the  world  was  in  love 
with  her  baby.  The  whole  male  sex  unmarried  were  simply  an 
aggregate  of  Helen's  suitors.  She  had  but  to  look  and  choose, 
and  this  she  should  do  to  please  herself,  as  her  mother  had  done 
before  her. 

So  Harry  came  and  went  as  he  listed.  The  door  was 
always  open  to  him,  and  he  could  depend  upon  meeting  at 
least  one  kind  welcome,  no  matter  at  what  hour  he  came. 

Harry  took  the  summons  away  to  his  chambers,  and  put 
down  in  his  register,  in  which  there  were  but  few  similar  entries, 
in  a  full,  round  hand,  "The  Bosh  Silver-Mining  Company 
versus  Edmund  Graham,"  and  noted  the  day  of  service  and  the 
day  the  answer  would  be  due.  It  did  not  take  long  to  do  this, 
and  he  felt  that  he  had  done  already  nearly  all  that  would  prob 
ably  ever  be  necessary  to  do  in  the  defence  of  the  black-mail' 
suit.  While  he  was  yet  engaged  in  this  work,  the  book  still  be 
fore  him,  the  door  opened,  and  to  his  surprise  a  gentleman  en 
tered. 

It  was  Mr.  Edmund  Graham,  the  defendant. 

Harry  started  up  and  handed  a  chair.  His  heart  was  high  in 
his  throat,  for  Mr.  Edmund  Graham  could  never,  he  thought, 
be  to  him  an  ordinary  client,  though  why  he  would  not  have 
dared  to  intimate. 

"  You  have  come  about  this  vexatious  business  of  the  Bosh 
Company,  I  suppose,"  he  said  with  trepidation. 

"Yes,  in  part,  but  not  wholly,"  answered  Mr.  Graham.  "I 
have  just  received  a  letter  from  my  superintendent,  Mr.  Blood 
stone,  and  1  find  that  the  enemy  is  not  content  to  attack  me 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  97 

here  alone  ;  he  has  also  sued  in  the  Washoe  Territory  courts. 
Here  is  the  summons  that  has  been  served  on  the  superinten 
dent  at  the  mine." 

Henry  took  it.  It  was  similar  to  the  other.  The  Bosh 
Company  had  commenced  an  ejectment  suit  for  the  recovery 
of  the  mine. 

"Is  it  serious?"  asked  Mr.  Graham,  uneasily. 

"  Not  very,  Mr.  Graham,"  answered  the  young  man.  "  It  will 
involve  the  necessity  of  your  employing  counsel  in  the  territo 
ry  to  look  after  it.  But  most  likely  there  the  matter  will  drop, 
at  least  till  you  make  some  rich  discovery,  in  which  case  they 
will  press  you  warmly  in  court,  and  try  to  force  you  into  a  com 
promise.  That  is  the  course  that  black-mail  suits  generally 
take.  They  are  nothing  till  the  mine  begins  to  pay.  But  it 
must  be  attended  to,  otherwise  a  default  will  be  taken  against 
you,  and  your  rights  will  be  lost." 

"  I  see,"  answered  Mr.  Graham ;  "  but  Bloodstone  writes  me 
that  he  has  as  yet  been  unable  to  obtain  counsel.  He  says 
that  all  the  best  lawyers  have  already  been  secured  against  us. 
It  appears  that  a  certain  Mr.  Napoleon  B.  Spelter  is  the  leader 
of  the  bar.  Bloodstone  went  to  see  him,  he  writes,  but  he  was 
already  retained  as  special  counsel  to  assist  the  San  Francisco 
lawyer  who  prepared  the  suit." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Harry,  "you  must  employ  others. 
There  are  undoubtedly  plenty  of  them  on  the  ground.  I  am 
sure  you  will  have  no  trouble  in  finding  them." 

"Mr.  Stacey,"  said  Mr.  Graham  thoughtfully,  "why  could 
not  you  attend  to  both  suits.  That  one,  and  this  as  well.  I 
should  feel  better  about  it  if  you  did."  . 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Graham,  it  would  involve  the  expense  of  my 
making  one  or  more  trips  over  the  mountains,  and  would  not 
be  better  managed,  if  as  well,  as  it  could  be  done  by  local 
counsel." 

"  But  I  would  rather  have  you  attend  to  it,  sir,"  interposed 
Mr.  Graham.  "Indeed,  sir,  one  lawyer  is  one  too  many;  and 
I  am  a  little  nervous  when  it  comes  to  multiplying  the  evil." 
This  Mr.  Graham  said  with  a  good-natured  smile,  that  plainly 
said,  "  I  desire  you  to  do  it  all." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Graham,"  answered  Harry,  "if  you  really 
wish  it,  I  know  of  no  reason  why  I  should  object.  I  will  there 
fore  undertake  the  Business." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Stacey ;  I  feel  sure  that  you  will  not  permit 
my  interests  to  suffer  through  any  default  of  your  own,  at  least. 


98  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

More  no  man  has  the  right  to  ask.  I  go  to  Washoe  on  Mon 
day  afternoon.  You  will  come  as  soon  as  the  business  requires 
your  presence,  of  which  you  yourself  must  be  the  judge.  You 
have  the  matter  now  completely  in  your  charge,  and  I  shall  ex 
pect  you  to  do  everything  that  is  necessary,  and  at  the  time 
required,  without  further  instructions  from  myself." 

Harry  thanked  his  client  for  this  mark  of  his  confidence,  and 
so  the  business  was  disposed  of. 


CHAPTER   X. 

GOING   TO   THE   MINES. 

AT  least  a  half  an  hour  before  the  time  fixed  by  regulation 
for  the  departure  of  the  Sacramento  steamer,  on  the  Monday 
following  the  great  Chainshot  ball,  a  knot  of  gentlemen  had 
gathered  on  the  wharf  to  bid  adieu  to  Mr.  Graham,  his  wife, 
and  his  daughter.  Some  of  them  were  friends  of  the  family, 
and  others  only  distant  acquaintances.  But  the  sailing  of  the 
steamer  each  afternoon  was  in  those  days  an  event  of  impor 
tance,  and  people  of  leisure  generally  found  themselves  there, 
either  from  curiosity  or  to  take  leave  of  friends. 

Captain  Plunger  was  already  deep  in  the  details  of  the  for 
tune  to  be  made  by  investment  in  the  King  Midas  Mine,  which 
he t  was  earnestly  telling  to  Mr.  Graham,  and  had  already 
reached  the  point  of  the  twenty  shares  of  stock,  which  he  still 
had  left  to  sell  to  a  friend  as  a  favor.  While  Colonel  Horn-* 
spout  had  recited  to  Helen  the  first  two  sections  of  his  poem  on 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  and  was  now  rapidly 
running  over  that  part  devoted  to  the  powers  reserved  to  the 
several  States,  and  was  still  in  full  breath  when  Blanche  ap 
proached  the  party  with  relief. 

"  Come,  gentlemen,  clear  out  of  this  ! "  she  cried.  "  Be  off 
with  you  !  The  boat  is  about  leaving,  and  the  people  want  to 
be  left  alone." 

So  saying,  she  drove  them  away  at  once. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said.     "  Now  I  will   take   leave  of  you." 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  99 

She  clasped  Helen  to  her  heart.  "  Don't  cry,  dear,  I  will  see 
you  very  soon." 

But  she  was  already  herself  in  tears.  Woman's  nature  had 
asserted  itself  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  keep  it  down  during  the 
hurry  of  leave-taking.  They  embraced  again  and  again. 

"  Write  to  me,  Helen ;  and,  above  all,  if  you  need  anything, 
or  if  you  want  me  to  be  with  you  for  any  reason,  telegraph  me 
without  fail,  and  I  will  cross  the  mountains  to  you  in  twenty- 
four  hours  after  I  receive  your  message.  Promise  me  that 
faithfully." 

Helen  promised,  and  the  girls  separated.  Blanche  rushed 
on  shore  at  the  last  instant.  At  the  moment  she  was  entering 
the  carriage  to  drive  home,  she  saw  Henry  Stacey  standing 
alone,  gazing  sadly  at  the  steamer,  as  she  swung  off  into  the  bay. 
Blanche  called  out  the  gentleman's  name 

Mr.  Stacey  approached. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  on  board  and  see  them  off?  "  she 
asked.  "  Did  you  not  get  here  in  time  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "but  I  did  not  believe  that  she  would 
think  about  me  at  such  a  time,"  he  said,  despondingly. 

"  How  ridiculous  you  are  !  Of  course  she  wanted  to  see 
you." 

"  Did  she  speak  of  me  ?  "  he  inquired,  eagerly.  "  Did  she 
mention  my  name  ?  " 

Blanche  looked  at  him  curiously,  as  if  to  divine  his  thoughts. 

"  No,  she  did  not  speak  of  you.  But  what  of  that,  Mr.  Sta 
cey  ?  Don't  you  know  that  a  woman  never  inquires  about  the 
man  she  desires  to  see  ?  I  am  afraid  it  would  have  been  a  bad 
sign  for  you  had  she  mentioned  your  name.  She  did  not  men 
tion  it.  Think  of  that  and  be  happy.  She  did  not  even  give 
a  hint  of  you.  Come,  get  into  the  carriage  and  go  up  town 
with  me,  and  rejoice  she  did  not  speak  a  word  that  would  imply 
that  such  a  man  as  Henry  Stacey  even  existed." 

He  stepped  in  with  a  sigh,  but  he  did  not  look  happy,  as  he 
was  ordered  to  do. 

"Poor  fellow,"  thought  Blanche,  "he  has  a  great  deal  to 
learn  about  women." 

Helen,  directly  that  Blanche  left  her,  walked  aft  with  her 
father  and  took  a  seat  under  the  awning  at  the  stern.  And  as 
the  wharf  and  the  thinning  crowd  of  faces  receded  from  view, 
she  still  gazed  anxiously,  as  if  in  search  of  some  one  that  she 
had  fondly  expected  to  see  once  more.  Poor  Helen  thought 
her  heart  was  about  to  break  when  the  faces  of  the  gaping 


100  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

crowd  had  grown  dim  and  disappeared,  and  still  she  saw  not 
among  them  all  the  one  for  whom  she  had  searched.  She 
knew  that  she  had  not  been  cordial  to  him  since  the  night  of 
the  ball.  But  was  that  any  reason  that  he  should  put  a  slight 
upon  her.  All  the  rest  of  their  friends  had  come  down  to  the 
wharf,  and  had  waved  their  handkerchiefs  in  kindly  adieus  as 
she  sailed  away.  He  alone  had  failed  in  this  only  ordinary  at 
tention  due  to  friends.  Perhaps  he  had  forgotten  the  hour  of 
sailing.  His  business  had  been  pressing,  and  he  had  not  the 
time  to  remember  that  they  were  about  to  depart.  Bitter 
thought  !  The  poor  girl  excused  herself  and  went  to  her  cabin. 
There  she  poured  out  her  tears  of  bitter  agony  and  disappoint 
ment,  and  found  some  relief.  In  a  half  hour,  she  was  called 
by  her  father  to  come  and  see  the  sun  through  the  Golden  Gate, 
as  the  entrance  to  the  harbor  of  San  Francisco  is  called,  which 
was  just  sinking  into  its  ocean  bed  with  that  rich  splendor  that 
has  already  been  the  theme  of  more  than  one  poet. 

Poor  Helen.  She  had  enough  to  do  to  hide  the  sorrow  at 
the  bottom  of  her  heart.  She  feared  each  instant  that  her 
father  would  surely  discover  the  secret  disappointment  that  was 
almost  choking  her,  as  she  pretended  to  look  with  sentimental 
pleasure  upon  the  beautiful  scenery  of  the  Bay  of  San  Francis 
co,  But  she  stood  firm  and  played  well  her  part.  She  had 
been  slighted,  she  thought,  by  one  she  had  fondly  loved,  and 
none  should  ever  know  how  foolish  she  had  been.  So  she  re 
mained  by  her  father's  side  as  the  steamer  sailed  along,  while 
he  pointed  out  to  her  all  that  was  noble,  and  grand,  and  beau 
tiful  in  the  islands,  the  mountains,  and  the  green  shores  in  and 
around  the  most  beautiful  inland  sea  on  the  globe.  On  the 
left  lay  Alcatraz,  the  Gibraltar  of  the  Pacific,  like  a  wakeful 
lion  with  shaggy  mane  of  bristling  gems,  his  head  upon  his  paw^, 
crouched  and  ready  to  spring  upon  the  foe ;  while  Monte  del 
Diablo  reared  his  double  peak,  a  cold  Vesuvius  piercing  the 
clouds  on  the  right. 

The  good  steamer  plunged  through  the  water  and  soon  carried 
them  past  Red  Rock,  vermilion  as  its  name  ;  then  The  Sisters, 
with  their  swarms  of  sea  birds,  darkening  the  sky  with  the 
spread  of  their  wings  and  almost  shaking  it  with  their  discord 
ant  cries.  But  here  night  closed  upon  the  travellers  and  they 
retired  to  rest. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


CHAPTER  XL 

WOMAN'S  RIGHTS. 

WHEN  they  awoke  the  following  morning,  they  found  the 
steamer  already  at  Sacramento,  where  she  had  arrived  in  the 
night.  By  nine  o'clock  the  train  had  carried  them  to  the  foot 
of  the  mountain,  and  now  they  must  perform  the  rest  of  the 
journey  by  stage-coach.  This  they  found  ready  and  waiting  for 
them  at  the  station.  Jack  Gowdy  was  on, the  box,  shouting  at 
the  top  of  his  voice,  as  usual,  the  boisterous  announcement,  that 
he  should  start  for  Virginia  City  in  exactly  five  minutes  from 
that  time,  adding  the  information  that  any  one  who  did  not  wish 
to  be  left  behind  would  do  well  to  jump  aboard  as  soon  as  pos 
sible,  for  that  his  horses  could  not  be  detained  any  longer. 
And  this  was  apparently  not  without  reason,  for  the  six  prancing 
mustangs  that  Jack  was  trying  to  keep  in  check,  were  standing 
upon  their  hind  feet  at  least  one  half  of  the  time,  and  threat 
ened  at  any  moment  to  run  away  with  the  empty  coach.  When 
the  eye  of  the  driver  fell  upon  Mr.  Graham,  he  called  out  at 
once,  — 

"This  way,  Mr.  Graham;  I  received  your  telegram  securing 
places.  The  seat  on  the  box  is  reserved  for  you,  sir." 

Now,  this  was  a  pure  invention  of  Jack's,  for  Mr.  Graham  had 
not  so  much  as  thought  of  telegraphing  for  seats,  or  for  any 
purpose. 

"  But  I  have  my  family  with  me,  Jack,"  he  said ;  "  I  can't 
put  them  on  the  seat  with  the  driver,  you  know." 

"  That  is  so,"  answered  Jack  ;  "  more  is  the  pity.  The  com 
pany  don't  allow  us  to  take  ladies  outside  now.  They  say  that 
we  pay  them  too  much  attention,  and  that  it  leads  to  accidents. 
Well,  that  may  be  so ;  I  would  not  wonder  if  it  did  sometimes 
happen.  But,  sir,  your  ladies  shall  get  up  outside,  if  you  want 
them  to  do  so  ;  I'll  risk  the  company." 

"  Oh  no,  Jack,  thank  you,  the  ladies  will  ride  inside.  That 
will  be  better.  Can  you  give  them  good  back  seats  on  the  in 
side  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  certainly,  I'll  do  that." 

Mr.  Graham  turned  and  went  to  the  station  to  fetch  the 


102  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

ladies.  Jack  leaned  over  the  side  and  looked  through  the  door 
of  the  coach.  It  was  already  filled  with  men.  Not  a  vacant 
place  was  left.  He  removed  his  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  looked 
again. 

"I  say,"  he  called  out,  "back  seats  there,  wanted  for 
ladies." 

There  was  no  response  to  the  call.  Jack  sat  quietly  in  his 
seat  and  allowed  a  short  time  for  the  order  to  be  obeyed.  Gen 
tlemen  require  a  moment  to  consider  how  to  act  when  told  to 
vacate  seats,  even  for  the  accomodation  of  the  fair  sex.  This 
Jack  knew,  so  he  replaced  his  cigar  in  his  mouth  and  puffed 
away  for  a  time,  holding  his  plunging  horses  as  well  as  he  could. 
But  a  half  minute  elapsed,  and  no  movement  was  made  towards 
vacating  the  back  seats.  He  looked  in  again. 

"I  say,"  he  said  sharply,  "you  red-headed  fellow  there  on 
the  back  seat,  I  want  that  place  for  ladies.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

There  were  three  decently-dressed  men  on  the  back  seat. 
The  one  addressed  as  having  a  red  head  was  nearest  the  door. 

"Come,"  cried  Jack,  "roll  out  of  that." 

At  last  the  man  looked  up  and  grumbled  something  to  the 
effect  that  he  had  paid  for  his  ticket  the  price  demanded  by  the 
company,  and  had  taken  his  seat ;  that  he  had  a  perfect  right  to 
it,  and  should  not  give  it  up  to  anybody. 

Jack  paid  no  attention  to  what  the  man  said,  but  sat  puffing 
his  cigar  a  little  time  longer  and  waiting.  He  evidently  felt 
that  his  temper  was  about  to  be  put  to  a  severe  trial,  and  he 
was  anxious  to  be  wholly  and  clearly  in  the  right,  so  that  noth 
ing  could  be  brought  against  him  in  the  future.  At  last  it  was 
evident  that  this  passenger,  and  perhaps  the  whole  three  on  the 
back  seat,  were  going  to  try  conclusions  with  him.  This  being 
clear,  he  put  the  end  of  his  whip  down  through  the  door,  and 
touching  the  passenger,  he  again  spoke  to  him,  — 

"  Come,  my  friend,  I  want  that  place  for  some  ladies.  Do 
you  understand  me?  I  don't  want  the  seats  for  Chinamen  nor 
free  niggers  —  I  don't  want  them  for  gentlemen,  even.  I  want 
the  seats  for  ladies  —  for  women,  if  you  like  that  better.  But  I 
want  the  seats.  On  this  road  women  always  have  the  best 
places  in  the  coach.  The  places  you  are  in  are  the  best,  and 
some  women  are  coming  to  take  them,  so  jump  out,  quick,  my 
man,  before  they  get  here.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

Again  the  stage-driver  waited  long  enough  to  give  the  man 
an  opportunity  to  reconsider  his  determination  ;  but  he  would 
not  stir.  He  understood  what  the  driver  wranted,  but  women 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  103 

or  no  women,  he  should  keep  his  place.  So  he  sat  still,  as  did 
the  others.  They  would  not,  of  course,  get  out  till  the  first  man 
called  upon  did  so. 

Jack  Gowdy  was  a  stage-driver  of  altogether  too  much  ex 
perience  to  ask  any  other  passenger  to  make  room  for  ladies, 
till  he  had  brought  that  one  to  terms.  He  knew  that  his  strug 
gle  was  with  him,  and  with  him  alone.  To  apply  to  the  other? 
was  to  confess  inability  to  deal  with  that  one,  and  of  course 
no  other  would  yield  up  his  place.  At  last  Jack's  patience 
was  exhausted  and  he  spoke  out,  — 

"  Look  here,  my  friend,  I  drive  this  coach.  My  name  is  John 
Gowdy,  though  most  people  call  me  Jack  ;  and  I'm  responsi 
ble  to  the  company  for  its  management.  It  is  my  duty  to  take 
people  over  the  mountain  as  safely  as  tfce  dangers  of  the  road 
and  the  Indians  will  admit  of.  I'm  to  make  'em  comfortable  if 
I  can,  without  too  much  trouble  to  myself,  or  expense  to  the 
company;  but  people  that  are  very  anxious  about  comfort, 
don't  generally  go  to  Washoe  to  hunt  for  it ;  for  they  are  not 
apt  to  find  it  there  in  any  considerable  quantities.  Now  I  pre 
tend  to  know  what  is  the  duty  of  a  gentleman,  as  well  as  any 
white  man  that  walks  on  the  top  of  the  earth,  and  I  don't  ask 
no  lessons  of  nobody  on  that  point.  In  this  here  country  it  is 
the  custom  of  gentlemen  to  give  the  best  seat  in  a  coach  to 
women,  whenever  they  happen  to  ride  with  them ;  no  matter 
whether  they  are  rich  women  or  poor  women,  old  women  or 
young  ;  whether  they  pay  their  fare  or  whether  they  go  as 
'dead-heads.'  I  don't  know  what  the  rule  may  be  where  you 
come  from,  and  it  don't  make  no  sort  of  difference  what  it  is ; 
if  the  customs  of  this  country  do  not  suit  you,  you  oughtn't  to 
have  come  to  Washoe.  This  coach  is  owned  by  gentlemen,  and 
it  is  driven  by  a  gentleman,  and  its  rules  are  the  rules  of  gen 
tlemen." 

Here  Jack's  voice  grew  more  positive,  as  he  waxed  warm 
with  his  subject. 

"And  if  you  don't  get  right  out  of  that  place,  and  get  out 
quick,  I'll  call  a  groom  to  hold  these  horses,  and  I'll  get  down 
off  of  this  box,  and  I'll  take  you  by  the  nape  of  the  neck,  and 
I'll  jerk  you  through  the  side  window  of  this  here  coach  quicker 
than  hell's  blazes  could  scorch  the  tail  feathers  off  from  a  gnat. 
Do  you  hear  me,  you  mean,  sneaking,  sorrel-topped,  white-liv 
ered,  runaway  horse-thief." 

But  Jack  had  not  finished  this  part  of  his  speech  when  the 


104  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

door  opened  and  the  passenger  plumped  out  into  the  road ;  he 
was  soon  followed  by  the  others. 

"You  have  just  saved  your  distance,"  cried  Jack,  giving  one 
more  shot  at  the  flying  enemy. 

"I'd  have  pulled  you  clean  out  of  your  hide,  and  left  you  like 
a  skinned  squirrel,  in  just  two  minutes  by  the  watch." 

But  the  last  blow  was  superfluous.  The  passengers  were 
quite  satisfied  to  submit,  to  the  rules  of  the  country. 

"  Can  we  get  up  there  with  you  ?"  asked  one  of  them. 

"No,  you  can't  get  up  here  with  me,"  said  Jack,  furiously. 
"  This  is  a  place  for  gentlemen,  and  gentlemen  always  want  to 
associate  together ;  they  do  ;  it  is  one  of  their  peculiarities. 
They  don't  like  any  other  kind  of  people  except  gentlemen  like 
themselves,  and  don't  want  to  be  with  'em.  You  get  up  there 
behind,  with  that  Chinaman,  if  he'll  let  you,  for  I  won't  ask  him 
to  do  so ;  I  wouldn't  force  such  fellows  as  you  are  into  the  so 
ciety  of  a  free  nigger,  without  first  getting  his  consent.  And  for 
fear  of  a  misunderstanding,  I'd  want  it  in  writing.  Niggers  and 
Chinamen  may  be  black,  but  they  know  what's  due  to  a  woman, 
and  you  don't.  I  ought  to  put  you  in  the  boot  and  take  you 
over  with  the  baggage.  It  would  be  a  lesson  that  would  teach 
you  how  to  behave  when  you  are  among  gentlemen.  But  I 
won't.  If  the  Chinaman  don't  object  to  your  riding  with  him, 
I  won't.  He  can't  understand  your  language,  and  so  he  will 
not  know  what  sneaks  you  are." 

The  men  climbed  up  behind  and  took  the  places  designated. 
In  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Graham  came  back,  and  found  the  back 
seat  all  clear  for  the  ladies.  They  got  in  and  the  stage  started 
over  the  mountains.  At  the  first  station,  at  the  suggestion  of 
Jack  Gowdy,  Helen  left  the  inside  to  take  a  place  with  thet 
driver ;  thus  leaving  the  whole  of  the  back  seat  for  her  mother. 
Pillows  were  placed  behind  the  invalid  in  such  a  way  that  she 
could  lie  down  very  comfortably.  It  is  true  that  in  doing  this, 
she  took  up  the  room  that  is  properly  allotted  to  three  passen 
gers  ;  but  in  California,  women  travelling  in  public  conveyances 
are  absolute  monarchs ;  this  custom  dates  back  from  the  early 
days  when  there  were  but  few  women  in  the  country.  It  was 
so  ra  *e  a  thing  to  see  a  woman  travelling  in  the  mines,  that 
when  one  did  do  so,  she  was  treated  by  the  miners  with  the 
accumulated  gallantry  of  years  of  absence  from  the  very  sight 
of  a  woman.  The  whole  stage  coach  was  hers,  if  she  chose 
to  assert  her  right  to  it.  And  when  the  fair  sex  became 
more  plentiful  in  the  country,  still  the  best  seat  in  the  coach 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  105 

was  always  conceded  to  them  ;  old  travellers  became  used 
to  this  custom,  and  in  taking  places  in  even  an  empty  coach, 
would  take  a  forward  or  middle  seat  in  deference  to  the  rule, 
well  knowing  that  if  a  woman  should  come,  though  at  a  later 
period,  the  occupant  of  the  back  seat  would  be  expected  to  sur 
render  it  to  her.  But  now  that  Matilda  was  comfortably  set 
tled  in  her  place,  there  was  none  for  Helen  except  outside  with 
her  father  and  the  driver,  for  the  other  inside  seats  had  each 
three  men  in  them ;  the  outside  seats  were  no  doubt  the  most 
pleasant  and  comfortable,  being  free  from  dust  and  affording  a 
fine  view  of  the  country;  but  a  regulation  had  been  made 
against  ladies  riding  in  them  over  the  mountain.  It  had  been 
found,  so  it  was  said,  that  the  drivers  paid  too  much  attention 
to  the  fair  passengers,  and  too  little  to  the  horses  and  the  dan 
gerous  passes  through  which  they  were  obliged  to  travel.  But 
Jack  said  that  he  did  not  care  for  the  regulations ;  he  would 
take  the  lady  up  and  the  company  might  do  as  they  pleased 
about  it  afterwards.  But  the  fact  was  that  Jack  knew  well  that 
good  drivers,  men  who  were  willing  to  face  the  perils  of  that 
road,  and  with  skill  and  nerve  to  accomplish  it,  were  not  to  be 
found  every  day,  and  that  the  company  needed  him  more  than 
he  did  the  situation ;  he  knew  that  they  would  not  think  of  dis 
charging  him ;  so  a  ladder  was  brought  and  Helen  was  mounted 
up  to  the  seat  of  honor  and  comfort  with  her  father,  at  Jack 
Gowdy's  left.  They  journeyed  on  for  several  hours  till  they 
reached  Spofford's  station,  where  they  met  the  down  Virginia 
stage  coming  over.  The  driver  hailed  them  to  stop,  as  he  had 
something  to  say ;  he  had  come  over  the  road  without  any 
trouble,  he  said,  but  he  had  heard  of  a  party  of  Indians  having 
been  seen  on  the  Truckee,  and  there  had  been  some  settlers 
found  killed  in  their  cabins.  He  could  not  say  that  they  need 
be  alarmed,  but  it  would  be  well  for  them  to  look  sharp  at  their 
shooting  tools,  and  not  be  caught  napping. 

"  All  right,"  said  Jack,  as  he  drove  off.  "  If  they  make  a  call 
on  us,  we  will  try  to  make  it  as  pleasant  for  them  as  we  can." 

This  was  not  really  very  alarming  intelligence  ;  such  rumors 
were  flying  about  the  mountains  every  day;  and  while  there 
were  outrages  occasionally  occurring,  the  doctrine  of  chance 
alone,  wrhich  doctrine,  by  the  way,  is  the  most  encouraging  as 
surance  that  people  travelling  in  an  Indian  country  usually 
meet  with,  made  it  exceedingly  improbable,  that,  even  if  there 
were  hostile  bands  about  the  country,  they  would  meet  with 
this  particular  stage  coach.  So  they  drove  on,  trying  to  feel  as 


106  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE 

safe  as  they  could ;  they  at  least  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  they  had  not  yet  reached  the  scene  of  danger ;  they  would 
not  pass  over  the  part  of  the  road  menaced  till  after  night-fall, 
and  they  had  still  many  miles  to  drive  before  that  time. 

"We  shall  hear  all  about  it  at  Strawberry,"  said  Jack,  "and 
then  we  will  know  what  is  best  to  do  ;  the  road  is  perfectly  safe 
up  to  and  beyond  that,  and  then  we  will  decide  what  will  be 
our  course.  Are  you  a  good  soldier,  Miss?"  he  asked,  turning 
to  Helen. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  smiling ;  "lam  afraid  not ;  but  if 
I  am  ever  to  be  so,  it  will  be  here,  for  I  have  all  that  I  need  to 
live  for  with  me." 

This  remark  she  added  in  a  tone  of  bitterness,  as  the  thought 
of  her  love  and  its  hopelessness  came  into  her  mind. 

"  Well,  that  is  no  trifle,  Miss,  I  can  assure  you." 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  any  danger,  Jack?"  asked  Mr.  Gra 
ham. 

"  Very  little,  sir.  There  is  not  over  one  chance  in  five  thousand 
that  the  savages  will  trouble  our  road  at  all.  Then  we  have  the 
chance  that  they  will  wander  off  again  before  we  get  there.  They 
never  go  in  any  considerable  force.  Little  prowling  parties  of 
twenty  or  thirty,  ready  to  shoot  or  kill  some  poor  devil  they 
find  alone,  and  then  to  run  away.  That  is  the  most  they  think 
of  doing.  I  rather  expect  to  find  Bob  Greathouse,  the  mur 
derer,  at  Strawberry.  He  came  over  with  me,  and  he  may  be 
going  back.  If  he  goes,  I  shall  feel  all  right.  The  fact  is,  sir, 
that  when  a  man  has  six  wild  mustangs  to  drive  down  these  nar 
row  grades,  he  has  about  as  much  as  he  wants  to  attend  to, 
without  having  to  handle  his  shooting  irons  besides." 

"But,"  interposed  Helen,  "you  don't  seem  to  take  account 
of  us  twelve  or  fifteen  passengers  at  all.  Are  we  good  for  nothu 
ing?" 

"Not  much,  Miss,  in  a  hand-to-hand  fight  with  Injins.  The 
truth  is  that  the  most  of  the  people  that  go  about  the  country 
in  stages,  had  better  be  at  home  for  all  the  good  they  can  do 
when  the  coach  is  attacked.  They  are  the  merest  trash  in  the 
world.  I'd  a'most  as  soon  have  a  load  of  Chinamen  as  some 
of  the  men  that  go  over  these  mountains.  They  don't  seem  to 
know  what  to  do  when  they  get  into  trouble." 

"Why  is  that,  Jack?"  inquired  Mr.  Graham.  "Are  they 
such  cowards?" 

"Bob  Greathouse  says  it  is  because  they  are  Yankees,  sir, 
but  I  don't  think  so.  They  mostly  come  from  the  old  States, 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  107 

where  trouble  with  Indians  and  such  like  is  never  thought  of. 
So  half  the  time  they  don't  know  which  end  of  their  pistols  to 
put  foremost,  and  they  will  have  their  scalps  taken  as  clean  as 
the  back  of  your  hand  before  they  think  it  is  time  to  shoot." 

''Perhaps  they  don't  know  how  to  shoot,  Mr.  Gowdy,"  sug 
gested  Helen. 

"  No,  that  is  not  it.  They  seem  to  know  how  pretty  well. 
But  they  act  as  if  they  were  afraid  they  would  hurt  somebody. 
They  never  seemed  to  me  to  be  just  what  I  call  cowards,  and  I 
have  been  with  them,  one  time  and  another,  enough  to  know. 
When  it  comes  right  down  to  clean  fighting,  once  they  know  it 
comes  to  that,  they  can  look  an  Injin  in  the  eye  without  flinch 
ing  as  well  as  any  ranger  that  I  ever  went  out  with.  No,  Great- 
house  is  wrong.  It  is  not  because  they  are  Yankees,  and  he 
will  find  it  out  some  of  these  days.  It's  the  way  they  are  brought 
up.  They  don't  want  to  hurt  nobody.  And  it  takes  'em  a  good 
while  to  find  out  that  there  can't  be  much  of  a  fight  without 
somebody  getting  hurt,  and  getting  hurt  bad,  and  that  that's  what 
fighting  means." 

"  Is  this  Greathouse,  the  murderer,  as  you  call  him,  a  friend 
of  yours,  Mr.  Gowdy?"  inquired  Helen. 

"Well,  Miss,  in  one  sense  he  is.  Bob  Greathouse  and  I 
have  been  in  a  good  many  tight  corners  together,  and  I  never 
had  no  cause  to  complain  of  him,  and  I  hope  he  never  had  of 
me.  He  may  have  his  faults,  Miss,  and  for  that  matter,  who 
hasn't  got  'em  ?  He  may  be  a  little  hasty  when  he  is  in  liquor, 
and  it  may  be  that  at  times  he  is  a  little  too  active  with  his 
Derringers.  But  I'll  say  this  for  Bob  Greathouse,  that  I  never 
knowed  him  to  go  back  on  a  friend.  I  never  knowed  him  to 
tell  any  man  a  lie,  nor  to  take  advantage  of  his  forgetfulness  or 
oversight  to  get  his  coin.  I  never  knowed  him  to  pull  a  weapon 
on  a  man  without  giving  him  gentlemanly  notice  to  draw  and 
defend  himself,  as  a  white  man  ought  to  do.  1  say  again,  Miss, 
Bob  Greathouse  may  have  his  weaknesses,  but  on  the  Carson 
grade  from  Strawberry  down  as  we  are  going  to-night,  with  a 
dozen  or  twenty  Injins  howling  for  your  scalp,  he's  an  awful 
reliable  man  to  have  along." 

"  It  is  certainly  the  character  of  a  brave  man  that  you  give 
him,  Mr.  Gowdy." 

"  He  is  as  brave  as  Caesar,  Miss,  and  that  ain't  all.  A  good 
many  people  think  they  don't  like  Bob  Greathouse,  and  say 
things  about  him  that  may  be  true,  or  may  not  be  true,  for  I 
don't  know.  Say  things,  perhaps,  that  they  would  say  before  his 


108  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

face  and  perhaps  they  would  not.  The  chances  are  strong  that 
they  would  say  them  behind  his  back  in  preference.  Some  peo 
ple  call  him  Greathouse,  the  murderer,  because  folks  will  mn 
against  the  wrong  end  of  his  pistols.  But  let  me  tell  you,  Miss, 
in  a  real  rough-and-tumble  fight,  when  the  question  is  brought 
right  down  to  whether  you  shall  kill  a  dozen  Indians  or  be  tied 
down  on  your  back  and  have  a  grease-wood  fire  built  on  your 
breast,  I'd  rather  have  Bob  Greathouse,  the  murderer,  as  they 
call  him,  by  my  side,  than  all  the  Yankee  stage-passengers  that 
ever  left  the  State  of  New  York.  That's  Bob  Greathouse,  and 
you  have  Jack  Gowdy's  opinion  of  him,  and  I  hope  we  will 
find  him  at  Strawberry  when  we  get  there  to-night." 

Both  Mr.  Graham  and  his  daughter  joined  freely  in  this  wish. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

STRAWBERRY   STATION. 

IT  was  in  the  night  when  the  travellers  reached  Strawberry. 
They  found,  when  they  drove  up  to  the  door  of  the  station,  that 
the  horses  were  not  standing  ready,  as  was  usual,  to  put  to  the 
coach. 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  inquired  Jack  of  the  stable-man. 

"We  have  heard  bad  stories  of  Indians  crossing  the  Truckee 
and  going  south.  They  were  seen  skirting  along  the  edge  of 
the  hills,  and  keeping  out  of  sight.  But,  if  they  continuein 
the  same  direction,  it  would  fetch  them  across  your  road.  So 
we  thought  you  wouldn't  be  likely  to  want  to  go  on  to-night." 

Jack  swore  wrathfully  at  the  stable-men  for  presuming  to  in 
terfere  in  his  business.  What  was  it  to  them  if  Indians  were 
seen  prowling  about  the  country  ?  They  had  only  the  horses 
to  look  after  and  to  have  ready  when  he  should  get  along  to 
their  station.  He  was  to  be  the  judge  of  whether  he  would  go 
on  his  road  or  not.  But  though  he  rated  them  soundly,  he  did 
not  order  them  to  put  the  horses  tr  the  coach. 

"Has  Bob  Greathouse,  the  murderer,  been  here?"  he  de 
manded,  without  listening  to  the  apologies  of  his  subordinates. 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  was  here  in  the  morning,  but  went  away  again. 
He  will  be  back  to-night  and  take  the  coach  early  for  Carson 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  109 

to-morrow.  Really,  Mr.  Gowdy,  you  had  better  stay  here  to 
night.  There  is  room  for  all  of  your  people." 

"  Stay  here,"  shouted  Jack,  savagely;  "what  is  there  about  this 
infernal  place  to  keep  a  dozen  gentlemen  and  ladies  in  it  over 
night  ?  One  would  think,  to  hear  you  talk,  that  you  had  an 
opera-house  and  three  theatres  in  full  blast  behind  your  stable, 
with  Ned  Forrest  and  Jenny  Lind  both  playing  and  singing  to 
gether.  Stay  here,  indeed,"  he  growled.  "That  would  be  an 
idea." 

Mr.  Graham  spoke  to  Jack  in  an  undertone,  — 

"Really,  Gowdy,  I  suspect  the  men  are  right,  and  that  we 
had  better  stay  to-night  and  go  on  by  daylight  to-morrow." 

"Of  course  we  must,"  answered  Jack,  significantly,  "of 
course  I'm  going  to  stay.  I  would  stay,  if  it  was  only  for  the 
satisfaction  of  having  Greathouse  with  me,  in  case  we  do  have 
any  trouble.  But  it  will  never  do  for  me  to  let  these  fellows 
think  I  care  for  Injins  or  anything  else  on  top  of  ground.  Why, 
if  they  did  they  would  run  right  over  me  every  time  I  passed  the 
stable.  It  won't  do  even  to  let  them  think  I  have  got  ordinary 
common  sense,  for  these  fellows  can't  tell  the  difference  between 
reasonable  discretion  and  gross  cowardice.  If  a  man  don't 
keep  them  afraid  of  him,  they  will  take  him  clean  out  of  his 
boots  and  send  him  down  the  road  in  his  bare  feet.  These  fel 
lows  are  all  afraid  of  me,  for  they  think  I'm  perfectly  reckless. 
But  if  they  should  see  me  flinch,  just  once,  on  anything,  I 
would  have  to  leave  the  road  in  a  week.  They  would  make 
me  get  down  from  the  box  and  hitch  up  the  horses  myself  when 
I  get  along  here.  Oh  !  I  could  not  live  with  them  at  all,  not  a 
day." 

"Well,  no  doubt  you  are  right,  Gowdy,  but  I  wish  you 
would  not  go  on." 

"  Now  just  see  what  you've  done,"  shouted  Jack  to  the  sta 
blemen,  "with  your  foolish  old-woman  notions.  You  have 
frightened  these  ladies,  and  they  don't  want  to  go  on.  This 
gentleman  thinks  it  will  scare  the  poor  creatures  half  to  death, 
if  we  drive  farther  to-night.  I  know  it's  just  a  trick  of  yours  to 
get  us  to  stay  at  your  infernal  station  and  drink  your  mean,  tan 
gle-leg,  kreosote  whiskey,  stuff  that'll  kill  a  man  at  three  hun 
dred  yards  range,  as  sure  as  a  minie  rifle.  But  you're  fright 
ened  the  ladies  and  now  there  is  no  help  for  it ;  I  suppose  we 
must  hang  up  here.  But,  remember,  don't  you  fellows  ever 
play  this  trick  on  Jack  Gowdy  again  as  long  as  you  live." 

By  this  time  the   passengers   had  all   descended   from  the 


110  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

coaoh,  and  were  standing  about  in  groups,  discussing  the  ques 
tion  of  the  Indians.  Mr.  Graham  conducted  his  family  into 
the  tavern  that  stood  by  the  station,  and  in  fact,  was  part  of  it. 
As  was  the  custom,  the  best  rooms  in  the  house  were  set  aside 
for  the  ladies,  and  they  were  shown  to  them.  They  were  made 
quite  comfortable ;  a  blazing  log-fire  was  burning  in  the  chim 
ney,  that  lighted  up  the  whole  place  ;  in  half  an  hour,  a  sub 
stantial  supper  had  been  provided,  and  they  were  all  engaged 
in  eating  it  at  the  same  table.  Mr.  Graham  sat  at  one  end 
with  a  lady  on  each  side  of  him.  Then  followed  the  passengers 
indiscriminately,  to  the  opposite  end,  where  Jack  Gowdy  pre 
sided  ;  though,  for  that  matter,  there  was  but  little  ceremony. 
The  people,  being  all  hungry,  helped  themselves,  and  ate,  gen 
erally,  in  silence.  A  scattering  conversation  was  kept  up  by 
the  driver,  however,  with  such  passengers  as  he  choose  to 
address  from  time  to  time.  But  as  he  happened  to  have  next 
to  him  the  three  passengers  who  had  been  forced,  unwillingly, 
to  give  up  their  seats  to  the  ladies  in  the  morning,  and  to  whom 
he  did  not  condescend  to  speak,  he  had  but  little  to  say.  They 
had  only  been  at  the  table  a  short  time,  when  the  door  opened 
and  Bob  Greathouse  entered  the  room.  Jack  Gowdy  jumped 
up  from  his  seat,  and  rushed  to  meet  him. 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  the  sight  of  you  does  me  good  ! " 

"  How  do  you  do,  Jack,"  said  Greathouse,  quietly.  "  Good- 
evening,  ladies  and  gentlemen." 

Mr.  Graham  had  also  risen  from  his  seat. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Graham.  Don't  get  up,  sir  ;  I'll  come 
to  you,"  and  he  approached,  and  shook  him  by  the  hand. 
"  Going  back  to  the  mine,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Graham,  "we  have  started  .at  last. 
Colonel  Greathouse,  these  ladies  are  my  wife  and  daughter." 

"Good-evening,  ladies;  I  am  glad  to  see  you  both,"  said 
Greathouse,  bowing  politely  at  the  introduction. 

The  ladies  answered  the  salute.  They  were  both  glad  to  see 
him  ;  they  had  heard  of  his  prowess,  and  felt  already  the  com 
forting  assurance  that  the  protection  of  such  a  man  always 
produces. 

"Waiter,"  shouted  Jack,  "fetch  a  plate  for  Colonel  Great- 
house;  do  you  hear?  and  don't  be  all  night  about  it;  your 
victuals  are  cold  enough  now,  without  any  longer  waiting." 

A  cover  was  laid  for  Bob,  next  to  Mrs.  Graham  and  opposite 
to  Helen,  and  he  sat  down  and  began  to  eat  like  a  man  who 
had  fasted  for  a  week. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  Ill 

"  The  mountain  air  gives  a  good  appetite,  Miss,"  he  said  to 
her,  seeing  her  look  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  Colonel  Greathouse,  for  my  mother's 
sake.  She  has  quite  lost  her  appetite  by  being  kept  too  close 
indoors,  at  the  hotel  in  San  Francisco." 

"Indeed,"  he  replied;  "then  she  has  come  to  the  right  place 
to  find  it  again.  A  month  up  here  will  put  her  all  right,  I 
engage." 

"Do  you  go  on  with  us  in  the  morning,  Colonel?"  asked 
Mr.  Graham  in  an  anxious  tone. 

"  I  do  not  know,  yet,"  he  said.  "  I  may  not  be  able  to  go 
before  evening.  I  have  been  down  on  the  south  fork  of  the 
American  river,  looking  after  an  old  mining  claim  that  I 
used  to  own  over  there.  There  is  a  Yankee  that  wants  to  buy 
it,  and  I  expect  him  here  to-morrow  to  see  me  about  it." 

"  I  am  sorry  there  is  any  doubt  about  your  going,"  said  Mr. 
Graham ;  "  we  had  rather  counted  on  having  your  company. 
In  truth,"  he  continued  in  a  lower  tone,  "  Colonel,  I  have  these 
ladies  with  me, —  my  own  family,  you  know, —  and  there  is  some 
talk  of  Indians  on  the  road.  It  is  not  as  if  I  was  alone  ;  if  you 
were  going,  I  should  feel  much  easier  in  mind." 

Greathouse  looked  across  at  Helen,  almost  for  the  first  time. 
Before,  he  had  been  too  much  occupied  in  satisfying  his  hun 
ger.  His  eyes  dilated  as  if  a  sudden  blaze  of  light  had  fallen 
upon  them  from  that  quarter. 

"  Are  you  alarmed,  Miss,"  he  said  to  the  golden-haired  lady, 
that  seemed  to  be  enchanting  him  from  across  the  table. 

"  I,  like  my  father,  should  feel  more  assured,  if  we  had  the 
company  of  Colonel  Greathouse,"  she  answered. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss,  for  your  kind  opinion,"  said  Bob,  bowing 
courteously.  "There  is  no  real  danger.  The  Indians  never 
go  in  these  parts  in  any  force  ;  but  at  the  same  time,  I  am 
obliged  to  go  to  Virginia  some  time  to-morrow,  and  perhaps  it 
don't  make  much  difference  whether  I  go  in  the  morning  or  in 
the  evening.  Gowdy,"  he  said,  raising  his  voice,  "  have  you 
a  vacant  outside  seat  to-morrow  morning  ?  " 

"You  bet  your  life,  I  have,"  answered  Jack,  evidently  de 
lighted  with  the  question.  "  And  if  I  hadn't,  I'd  make  one 
mighty  quick.  I'd  throw  somebody  overboard,  if  I  could' t  find 
a  place  any  other  way  ;  and  it  wouldn't  be  no  John  Chinaman, 
neither,"  he  added,  looking  fiercely  at  his  old  antagonist  of  the 
morning's  dispute  about  the  ladies'  places. 


112  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"All  right,"  said  Greathouse  ;  "count  me  in.  I'll  go  with 
you." 

Here,  supper  being  finished,  they  all  rose  up,  and  separated 
for  the  night. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Graham,"  said  Bob.  "Go  to  sleep, 
and  don't  bother  your  head  with  any  except  pleasant  dreams. 
I'll  take  care  that  that  yellow  hair  of  yours  don't  hang  in  any 
wigwam,  except  it  be  your  father's,  between  here  and  Salt 
Lake,  this  trip." 

Helen  thanked  him  for  his  assumed  guardianship  of  her  hair, 
and  withdrew  to  her  room. 

"  Landlord,"  cried  Bob,  as  he  went  out,  "  call  me  in  time  fot 
Jack  Gowdy's  coach ;  and  if  a  little  sandy-headed,  cross-eyed 
Yankee  comes  around  here  inquiring  for  me  to  morrow,  tell 
him  that  I've  gone  over  the  mountains  on  a  sudden  call  of 
business,  but  that  I'll  be  back  on  the  Fork  again  in  three  or 
four  days." 

"  All  right,  Colonel  Greathouse,"  was  the  answer,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  tavern  was  quiet,  everybody  having  gone  to 
rest. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    CARSON    GRADE. 

THE  party  were  all  out  of  bed  and  in  their  respective  places 
in  the  coach,  before  the  faintest  streak  of  daylight  had  yet 
tinted  the  summit  of  the  Sierras.  Although  the  morning  was 
sharp  and  frosty,  Helen  insisted  that  her  mother  should  still  have 
the  whole  back  seat  to  herself,  while  she  would  sit  outside  with 
her  father.  A  half  dozen  inside  passengers  offered  to  exchange 
with  her,  and  to  mount  on  the  top,  but  the  morning  air  and 
glorious  mountain  scenery  were  too  tempting  to  the  young 
lady  to  be  given  up.  So  a  ladder  was  again  brought,  and  she, 
well  wrapped  in  blankets,  took  her  old  place  on  the  left  of  the 
driver. 

From  Strawberry,  there  is  a  steady  ascent  of  several  hours, 
before  the  first  summit  is  passed.  This  was  made  slowly  and 
tediously,  the  stage  and  long  team  of  horses  wi?iding  about 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  113 

among  the  lofty  pine  and  spruce  trees,   so  that,  at  times  the 
leaders  could  not  be  seen  in  the  mazes  of  the  forest.     But  at^- 
last  the  top  was  reached,  and  Lake  Bjgkr,  with  its  -rippling    I 
waves,  twinkling  like  the  waters  at  the  bottom  of  a  well,  lay 
spread  out  in  a  great  green-bordered  chasm,  three  thousand 
feet   beneath  them. 

Crack  went  the  whip. 

"Yah!  whoop!"  shouted  the  driver;  "go  along  you  lazy 
half-bred  rascals.  See  if  you  can't  earn  just  the  barley  straw 
that  you  waste,  just  once.  Now  will  you  ?" 

The  mustangs  seemed  to  understand  the  sneer  levelled  at 
them  by  the  driver,  and  to  resent  it  as  an  injustice,  for  they 
plunged  forward  down  the  mountain  at  a  sweeping  gallop. 
Greathouse  sat  behind  Helen  and  by  the  side  of  her  father. 

"Have  you  any  sort  of  shooting  instruments  with  you,  Mr. 
Graham?"  he  asked;  "not  that  I  think  they  will  be  needed, 
for  I  am  sure  they  will  not.  But  still  a  man  feels  a  little  more 
at  ease  if  he  has  his  tools  with  him  in  such  a  country  as  this." 

"No,"  answered  Mr.  Graham,  "I  have  not.  I  have  never 
learned  the  use  of  weapons,  and  somehow  when  I  start  out  on 
a  journey  like  this  where  I  may  really  need  something  with 
which  to  defend  myself,  I  always  forget  to  provide  them.  I 
wish  now  I  had  something  of  the  kind." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Graham,  but  your  plan  is  after  all 
the  best  one.  The  use  of  weapons  is  a  good  deal  like  whiskey 
and  tobacco.  The  more  you  use  them,  the  more  you  are 
obliged  to  use  them.  You  begin  in  a  small  way,  and  you  keep 
on  increasing,  till  you  must  carry  a  whole  armory.  Some 
times,"  and  here  he  looked  at  the  beautiful  girl  that  sat  before 
him,  "I  wish  I  had  never  seen  any  sort  of  an  instrument  of 
destruction.  It  might  have  been  a  good  deal  better  for  me 
if  I  hadn't." 

"  You  have  your  revolvers  with  you,  I  suppose,  Colonel  ? " 
asked  Mr.  Graham. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "I  have  one  by  accident,  but  it  is 
quite  an  accident,  for  I  seldom  carry  a  revolver.  I  don't 
think  much  of  them." 

"How  is  that,  Colonel?  I  thought  them  most  valuable 
weapons  of  defence." 

"  Well,  yes,  sometimes  they  do  well  enough.  But  I  like  my 
single  barrelled  Derringers  better.  You  see,  sir,  in  a  rough 
country  like  Texas,  where  I  was  brought  up  and  have  lived 
mostly,  gentlemen  are  awful  sprightly  with  their  t^efer  Among 

ff  "     OF    TEK 

I  UNIVERSITY 


114:  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

such  people  where  there  is  a  dispute  it's  the  first  shot  that  most 
always  settles  the  difficulty.  You  are  not  apt  to  get  a  second 
one,  sir.  When  you  are  to  have  but  one  shot,  it's  mighty 
important  to  have  that  one  count.  Believe  me,  sir,  if  ever  you 
have  any  experience  you  will  soon  see  it.  Well,  sir,  revolvers 
can't  be  depended  upon.  They  shoot  straight  enough  and 
they  shoot  hard  enough,  but  the  bullet  is  too  small  to  do 
much  service.  You  shoot  one  of  those  homoeopathic  pills  out 
of  a  revolver  into  a  man,  and  it's  just  like  shooting  a  grizzly  bear 
with  a  load  of  bird  shot.  Unless  by  mere  chance  you  plump 
him  in  a  vital  part,  it  is  like  shooting  peas  into  a  pumpkin. 
It  only  makes  him  cross  and  vicious,  and  by  the  time  you 
have  cocked  your  revolver  for  a  second  effort  he  has  come 
upon  you  with  a  bowie  knife  or  some  really  useful  weapon, 
and  has  taken  you  into  camp.  True,  he  may  die  in  ten  or 
twelve  days,  but  what  benefit  is  that  to  you  or  to  your  creditors 
when  you  have  been  already  buried  a  week." 

Mr.  Graham  acknowledged  the  force  of  this  logic. 

"  Now,  these  weapons,"  continued  Bob,  withdrawing  his  hands 
from  the  side  pockets  of  his  sack  coat  in  each  of  which  was  a 
pistol  which  he  showed  to  Mr.  Graham,  are  what  I  call 
thoroughly  reliable  instruments." 

Mr.  Graham  took  one  of  them  and  examined  it  carefully. 

"You  see,  sir,"  continued  Greathouse,  "that  there  don't 
seem  to  be  much  of  them.  They  are  almost  all  handle  and 
lock.  The  barrel  is  just  long  enough  to  hold  the  charge,  ar>d 
the  bullet  comes  out  even  with  the  edge  of  the  muzzle.  But 
if  there  was  no  bullet  in  the  barrel  you  could  put  your  thumb 
in  and  turn  it  around  with  room  to  spare." 

"It  is  certainly  very  large  in  the  bore,"  remarked  Mr.  Gra-  \ 
ham,  still  curiously  regarding  the  weapon. 

"That  is  precisely  the  point,  you  see,  sir,"  continued  Great- 
house.  "It's  the  weight  of  lead  that  does  the  business; 
with  one  of  them  Derringers  when  you  are  in  trouble,  all  you 
have  got  to  do  is  to  be  sure  and  hit  your  man.  It  don't  make 
much  odds  where  you  hit  him;  but  just  hit  him,  and  you 
needn't  to  give  yourself  any  more  uneasiness  about  that  party." 

"  I  should  say  he  would  have  quite  enough,"  said  Mr. 
Graham. 

"  You  are  right,  sir ;  plenty  to  do  him  !  Depend  upon  it  he  has 
something  else  to  attend  to  besides  pulling  out  bowie  knives 
and  sticking  them  into  you." 

While  this  conversation  was  still  going  on,  the  stage  passed 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  115 

down  the  mountain  and  ran  along  the  eastern  shore  of  Lake 
Bigler  to  the  point  where  the  Carson  grade  leaves  the  lake 
and  again  mounts  over  the  second  summit  of  the  Sierras. 
Here  there  was  a  station  to  change  horses,  and  a  stop  of  a  few 
minutes  was  made  for  that  purpose. 

"Now,"  said  Greathouse,  "if  there  be  any  danger,  —  and  I 
know  there  will  be  none, — but  if  there  should,  I  say,  it  will 
come  within  the  next  fifteen  miles ;  as  we  go  down  this  grade 
into  Carson.  Once  we  get  into  the  valley,  the  settlers  will 
take  care  of  the  Indians  and  we  need  give  ourselves  no  trouble 
about  them.  But  just  to  make  everything  shipshape,  you 
know,  not  that  there  is  in  my  judgment  a  savage  in  fifty  miles 
of  here,  we  had  better,  I  think,  put  the  young  lady  inside  with 
her  mother,  and  as  for  you,  Mr.  Graham,  having  no  tools,  why, 
we'll  just  let  you  get  in  to  keep  the  ladies  in  good  spirits." 

This  was  done  as  Greathouse  directed,  for  all  looked  upon 
him  by  common  consent  as  the  commander  in  chief  of  the 
party.  With  this  change  they  drove  on.  The  three  passengers 
who  had  been  put  out  of  the  back  seat  by  Jack  the  morning 
before  had  stopped  off  at  Strawberry  to  wait,  as  they  said,  for 
the  evening  coach ;  so  that  Greathouse  and  Jack  had  the  roof  all 
to  themselves,  the  Chinaman  excepted.  But  the  poor  celestial 
of  course  was  in  total  ignorance  of  any  special  danger  beyond 
that  which  he  knew  full  well  surrounded  and  beset  his  entire 
race  every  moment  they  remained  in  the  land  of  American 
liberty. 

Helen  had  taken  the  place  on  the  right  side  of  the  coach 
at  the  window  that  overlooked  the  deep  mountain  gorge  along 
the  face  of  which  the  grade  was  cut.  She  could  see  all  that 
took  place  ahead  of  the  coach  by  looking  out  of  her  window 
and  was  almost  the  only  one  inside  who  could  do  so.  Next 
to  her  was  her  mother,  between  herself  and  her  father  who  was 
at  the  opposite  window.  But  the  road  was  so  narrow  that  on 
that  side  nothing  could  be  seen  except  the  bank  or  mountain 
wall  which  came  close  against  the  side  of  the  passing  coach,  at 
times  actually  rubbing  against  it. 

"Now,  Jack,"  said  Greathouse,  looking  carefully  at  the  caps 
on  his  Derringer.  "Let  your  team  go,  you  understand;  send 
'em.  I  don't  believe  there  are  any  Injins  on  this  road ;  there  is  not 
one  chance  in  a  thousand  that  there  is  a  red  skin  this  side  of 
the  big  meadows  of  the  Truckee." 

"All  right,  Bob,  but  stranger  things  have  happened,  you 
know." 


116  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"Yes,  Jack,  stranger  things  have  happened,  and  that  is  why  I 
say  send  your  horses  as  if  the  devil  was  after  them.  The  less 
time  we  spend  fooling  along  on  this  grade  will  be  the  better 
for  all  concerned.  And  that  simply  means  common  prudence. 
I  told  that  yellow-headed  gal  that  I  would  undertake 
that  her  hair  should  hang  in  no  wigwam  but  her  father's  this 
trip,  and  if  I  am  to  keep  my  word,  I  don't  want  to  take  any 
more  chances  than  I  can  help.  As  for  the  rest  of  the  people 
inside  I  don't  care  one  chew  of  fine  cut,  if  old  Winnemuck 
sets  up  a  wig-shop  to-morrow  and  takes  'em  for  dummies  in  his 
window." 

"Them's  my  sentiments,"  cried  Jack,  "but  let's  pull  the 
ladies  through  if  we  die  for  it." 

"Very  good,  Jack,  but  don't  be  bashful  with  your  whip- 
cracker.  If  we  are  going  to  Carson's  let  us  go  along.  There 
is  no  special  need  of  our  staying  about  here.  The  country  is 
not  very  interesting,  at  least  not  to  me." 

Jack  was  already  laying  on  his  whip  with  might  and  main. 
The  wild  mustangs,  unused  to  such  treatment,  sprang  down  the 
narrow  grade  at  the  top  of  their  speed.  The  coach  rolled 
from  side  to  side  like  a  ship  in  a  gale,  while  the  trees  and  rocks 
flew  past  as  if  running  a  race  in  the  opposite  direction.  This 
speed  was  kept  up  for  half  an  hour,  and  the  valley,  as  they  could 
see  it  at  each  turn  of  the  road,  drew  sensibly  nearer  to  them. 

"  I  suspect  that  we  have  been  frightened  at  nothing,  Jack," 
said  Greathouse.  "It  looks  a  little  like  running  away  from 
our  own  shadows,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

Jack  didn't  know.  He  was  too  much  occupied  with  his 
horses  to  think  anything  about  the  matter. 

"Well,"  said  Greathouse,  "  he  would  have  left  the  territory 
for  ever  if  anything  had  happened  to  that  girl  while  I  was 
along.  If  a  gentleman  has  any  business  in  this  world  that  na 
ture  has  marked  out  for  him,  it  is  to  protect  and  defend  women 
when  they  are  in  danger  or  trouble.  And  they  ought  to  be 
prudent  about  it  and  not  let  them  get  into  peril  when  they  can 
prevent  it.  That  being  the  case,  I  did  right  to  look  for  the 
worst  and  be  ready  to  meet  it.  I'm  glad  there  is  no  danger." 

Just  as  he  said  this,  the  coach  turned  suddenly  a  projecting 
point,  made  by  a  spur  of  the  mountain,  that  had  concealed  the 
road  in  advance  till  this  moment,  and  revealed  to  them  a  seri 
ous  obstruction  in  the  path.  At  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  of 
them  an  immense  log,  portion  of  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  was 
stretched  squarely  across  the  road,  one  end  resting  against  the 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  117 

bank  or  mountain  side  to  the  left,  and  the  other  projecting 
over  the  precipice  to  the  right,  which  here  broke  off  squarely 
for  a  thousand  feet  down.  The  horses  were  plunging  along 
towards  it  at  a  fearful  speed,  and  if  not  stopped  would  surely 
be  thrown  down  the  fearful  declivity.  Jack's  first  and  natural 
impulse  was  to  clap  on  the  break  and  pull  up  his  horses  as 
quickly  as  possible.  But  Greathouse  caught  his  arm  and  held  it. 

"  Gowdy,"  he  said,  in  a  firm  but  hurried  voice,  "that  log  has 
been  put  there  by  Injuns,  and  there  is  an  Injun  behind  it  now, 
at  this  minute,  waiting  for  us.  I  just  saw  his  head  drop  down 
to  hide.  Don't  stop  your  horses,  for  the  woods  over  our  heads 
are  full  of  them,  and  they  are  going  to  roll  the  rocks  down  on 
us  as  soon  as  we  are  stopped  at  the  log.  Keep  right  on  at  full 
speed,  as  if  there  was  nothing  in  the  way  and  the  road  clear. 
Leave  the  rest  to  me." 

This  said,  the  giant  with  one  bound  jumped  forward  from  the 
roof  clear  over  the  off  wheel  horses,  landing  on  the  outer  edge 
of  the  road,  and  without  stopping  an  instant  flew  forward  with 
the  speed  of  the  wind,  passing  the  leaders  on  the  outside  next 
to  the  precipice,  and  ran  with  tremendous  bounds  directly  to 
wards  the  log.  Not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost.  He  must  beat 
the  team  that  was  furiously  galloping  behind  him,  reach  the  log 
in  advance  of  it,  and  clear  the  way  before  it  could  come  up. 
The  fright  given  to  the  mustangs  by  Greathouse  rushing  past 
them  made  them  run  still  faster,  so  that  it  almost  appeared  that 
they  would  reach  the  point  of  danger  as  soon  as  he  could.  But 
Greathouse,  as  if  spurred  by  the  desperate  condition  in  which 
all  were  placed,  almost  doubled  his  speed  and  soon  widened 
the  gap  between  himself  and  the  horses  to  fifty  yards.  All  this 
Jack  saw,  but  was  powerless  to  aid.  He  could  only  put  on 
the  break  and  slow  them  down  a  little,  and  so  they  ran  till 
Greathouse  was  within  five  rods  of  the  log.  At  this  moment, 
to  the  horror  of  Jack,  he  saw  an  Indian  who  had  been  con 
cealed  up  to  that  moment,  rise  up  from  behind  it  to  his  knees 
and  level  a  gun  deliberately  at  Greathouse. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  muttered  Jack,  tugging  at  his  horses  and 
pushing  with  his  foot  upon  the  break.  "  We  go  down  the  bank 
this  time  in  a  heap." 

But  this  idea  had  not  fully  passed  through  his  brain  when  he 
heard  a  short  sharp  pop  and  the  Indian  sprang  his  full  length  in 
the  air,  and  fell  forward.  Then  he  saw  Greathouse  lift  the  log 
that  to  him  seemed  a  load  for  four  horses,  and  send  it  thunder 
ing  down  the  precipice,  and  in  another  instant  the  Indian,  like 


118  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

a  bundle  of  rags  flew  into  the  air  after  the  log.  The  body  was 
still  sinking  in  mid-air  not  half-way  to  the  bottom,  when  Jack 
whirled  with  furious  speed  over  the  spot  where,  but  fifteen 
seconds  before,  the  savage  had  been  lying  in  malicious  security. 

"  Come  on,  don't  stop  there  to  swap  horses  ! "  shouted  Great- 
house,  still  running  at  the  top  of  his  speed  down  the  grade  in 
advance. 

And  the  advice  was  good,  for  already  the  road  behind  them 
was  almost  hidden  from  view  by  the  pile  of  rocks,  trees  and 
earth  that  was  rolling  over  it  like  a  vast  and  irresistible  ava 
lanche.  The  savages,  as  Greathouse  had  suspected,  had  been 
lying  in  concealment  among  the  trees  and  rocks  above,  waiting 
for  the  coach  to  be  stopped  by  the  log,  to  roll  down  upon  it  the 
accumulated  debris  of  the  mountain  side.  But  the  attack  had 
failed,  and  the  yells  of  savage  disappointment  were  borne  to 
the  retreating  coach  now  in  perfect  safety  running  away  down 
into  the  inhabited  valley. 

"  Don't  stop  for  me,"  cried  Greathouse,  as  the  coach  drove 
alongside  of  him  ;  "  I  can  get  up  without  your  stopping." 

As  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  iron  of  the  coach  to  mount,  his 
eyes  met  those  of  Helen  Graham  as  she  sat  deadly  pale  by  the 
window.  She  alone  of  all  inside  the  vehicle  knew  what  had 
transpired.  She  had  seen  it  from  the  first,  but  had  refrained 
from  speaking,  to  save  her  mother  the  shock  of  terror.  In  an 
instant  Greathouse  had  vaulted  up  the  coach's  side  and  was 
back  in  his  seat. 

"Jack,"  said  he,  "  do  you  know  that  that  yellow-haired  girl  saw 
the  whole  of  that  affair  from  beginning  to  end.  She  sat  by  the 
window  and  looked  on  without  giving  a  hint  of  the  danger,  and 
never  squealed  once.  She  didn't  want  to  scare  the  old  woman. 
I  saw  how  it  was  just  at  a  glance.  Not  one  of  'em  in  there 
have  any  idea  of  what  has  happened  except  her." 

"Wheu!  wheu !  "  whistled  Jack,  "but  isn't  she  a  trump! 
I  know'd  that  she  would  do,  the  first  time  I  clapped  my  eyes  on 
her.  She  has  got  a  thorough-bred  look,  wide  between  the  eyes 
and  with  fine-cut  nostrils  like  an  Eclipse  colt.  I  never  saw 
them  points  fail  to  make  a  winner  whether  in  man  or  beast. 
She  is  good  for  four  mile  heats,  you  bet  your  life." 

"  Yes,  she'll  do,"  said  Greathouse,  "  and  I  am  glad  she's  safe 
through  that  pass.  For  do  you  know,  Jack,  that  between  our 
selves,  we  ought  not  to  have  let  those  people  come  over  here 
to-day  till  we  knew  the  road  was  clear." 

"  That's  so ;  but  do  you  know,  Bob,  that  on  the  road  if  you 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  119 

begin  to  talk  prudence  they  all  think  you  are  a  coward,  and 
from  that  time  the  dogs  won't  smell  of  you,  but  will  turn  up 
their  noses  and  pass  along." 

"  It  is  safely  over  anyhow,  Jack,  and  we'll  let  it  go  at  that ; 
but  didn't  I  make  that  Injin  jump?  After  this  let  any  man 
ever  talk  to  me  about  six-shooters.  I  don't  want  to  hear  him. 
If  I'd  gone  for  that  Injun  with  a  revolver  I'd  have  shot  about 
four  mustard  seeds  into  him  before  I  would  have  got  him  down, 
and  by  that  time  you  would  have  been  over  the  precipice  and 
the  rocks  would  have  been  down  upon  me ;  and  where  would 
my  creditors  have  been  I  would  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  Bob,  I  begin  to  think  there  is  something  in  what  you  say 
against  six-shooters,  though  I  have  always  carried  them." 

"I  know  I  am  right,  Jack.  Here  is  the  sort  of  an  instru 
ment,"  and  Greathouse  pulled  out  the  empty  Derringer  and 
held  it  in  his  open  hand,  looking  at  it  in  transports  of  admira 
tion.  "  It  looks  like  a  pug  pup  turned  upside  down,  don't  it  ? 
You  ought  to  have  seen  the  hole  it  made  in  that  Injun's  gizzard- 
box.  You  could  have  pitched  your  hat  through  it.  He  had  a 
bead  drawn  on  me  when  I  fired,  yet  he  never  got  his  gun  off; 
it  is  lying  back  there  now  in  the  road  at  full  cock.  If  I  had 
shot  him  with  a  six  shooter  he  would  have  got  me  down  before 
he  would  have  known  he  was  hurt.  A  Derringer  is  not  a 
pretty  thing  to  look  at,  but  it  is  a  mighty  useful  thing  to  have 
around  in  times  like  these." 

This  said,  Greathouse  restored  the  weapon  carefully  to  his 
pocket. 

"  We  will  be  in  Carson  in  fifteen  minutes,"  he  said,  leaning 
over  the  side  of  the  coach  and  speaking  down  to  Helen  who 
was  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"Thank you,  Colonel  Greathouse,"  she  answered  him,  with  a 
smile  that  said  more  plainly  than  the  words,  "if  we  reach  there, 
it  is  you  who  have  brought  us  in  safety."  Her  color  was  now 
restored,  and  she  looked  more  beautiful  than  ever. 

"I  am  satisfied,"  said  Bob,  turning  to  Jack.  "I  have  had 
my  pay ;  and  I  am  ready  to  do  the  same  thing  to-morrow." 

Jack  laughed.  "  Count  me  out,  Bob,"  he  said  ;  "  I've  seen 
enough  of  that  sort  of  thing.  Not  any  more  for  me,  thank  you. 
I'll  take  it  in  another  shape,  next  time,  if  it's  all  the  same  to 
you." 

They  were  soon  at  Carson,  where  the  horses  were  changed, 
and  where  many  of  the  passengers  stopped.  But  both  Bob  and 
Jack  agreed  that,  as  Helen  had  not  mentioned  the  adventure, 


120  ROBERT  GREAT ffO  USE. 

they  would  not  do  so  to  any  in  the  coach,  at  least  till  they 
reached  Virginia,  and  until  Mrs.  Graham  was  safely  settled  in 
her  hotel.  But  Bob  took  the  clerk  of  the  station  aside,  just 
before  they  drove  off,  and  told  him  what  had  occurred,  so  that 
the  people  could  be  informed  of  the  state  of  the  road,  and  put 
upon  their  guard.  Then  they  drove  away  towards  Virginia. 
The  day  was  gone  when  they  toiled  up  the  sides  of  Mount 
Davidson,  to  their  new  home.  They  found  there  apartments 
all  ready  to  receive  them,  and  as  comfortably  furnished  as  they 
had  reason  to  expect.  Mr.  Bloodstone  was  at  the  hotel, 
and  showed  them  up.  He  had  no  good  news  for  Mr.  Graham. 
The  mine  had  not  improved,  but  was  as  discouraging  as  ever. 
He  was  studiously  polite  to  Helen,  who  returned  his  attention 
civilly  but  coolly.  In  half  an  hour  he  went  away,  saying  that  he 
would  call  again  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

AND     SPELTER,     COUNSELLORS-AT-LAW. 

BY  the  time  Henry  Stacey  had  reached  the  hotel,  the  day  of 
Helen's  departure,  Blanche  had  extracted  from  him  his  secret. 
Not  by  way  of  direct  confession,  it  is  true  ;  but  he  had  allowed 
her  to  rate  him  soundly  for  his  folly  in  permitting  the  lady  of 
his  heart  to  go  away  without  at  least  declaring  to  her  his  love. 

"  Why  did  you  not  seize  her  hand  and  tell  her  you  loved  her; 
and  swear  that  you  would  die  on  the  spot  if  she  did  not  recip 
rocate  your  passion.  That  is  the  way  to  get  on  with  a  woman. 
You  are  altogether  too  modest  for  this  world,  Mr.  Stacey,"  she 
cried  ;  "  I  am  sure  you  have  mistaken  your  profession ;  you 
should  have  gone  into  the  church." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  poor  Harry  despondently ;  "  I 
have  long  since  come  to  that  conclusion.  But  you  would  not 
have  me  ask  the  beautiful  Helen  Graham  to  starve  with  me, 
"would  you?" 

"  Pooh  ! "  cried  Blanche,  with  angry  energy.  "  Starve  with 
you  ?  How  can  she  starve  with  you  in  this  country  ?  You 
could  support  her  by  breaking  rock  in  the  street,  if  in  no  other 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  121 

way.  And  if  she  loved  you,  she  would  help  you  to  do  it,  or  I 
am  no  judge  of  her  character." 

"That  may  be,  Blanche ;  but  she  does  not  love  me.  There 
is  the  truth." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  she  does  not  love  you  ?  "  demanded 
Blanche  with  severity.  "Who  has  told  you  she  does  not? 
Have  you  asked  her  ?  Certainly  no  one  else  has  the  right  to 
speak  for  her." 

Harry  could  not  answer  this  question.  It  was  true  that  he 
had  never  asked  her.  He  had  not  dared  to  do  it  He  was 
sure  of  meeting  his  death  sentence  in  her  refusal.  "  1  could 
not  ask  her,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  knew  too  well  what  would  be 
the  answer." 

Blanche  stopped  him  impatiently.  "You  are  going  over 
there  soon,  are  you  not  ?"  she  asked.  "You  have  some  busi 
ness  that  calls  you  thither?" 

"  Yes ;  1  am  to  go  some  time  next  week,  but  for  a  few  days 
only." 

"That  is  enough.  If  you  were  to  stay  but  an  hour,  that 
would  be  time  enough  to  find  out  the  state  of  her  mind." 

"How?"  inquired  Harry,  looking  at  her  as  if  a  new  light 
was  coming  from  that  quarter. 

"  The  plan  is  simple,"  she  said.  "Ask  her.  She  is  an  honest 
girl,  and  will  tell  you  the  truth." 

He  handed  the  young  lady  out  of  the  carriage,  and  walked 
with  her  to  her  door. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Stacey,"  she  said.  "  Don't  forget  what 
I  have  told  you.  I  cannot  give  you  much  encouragement,  for 
she  has  never  dropped  so  much  as  a  hint  to  me  about  you  ;  but 
that  has  no  bearing  upon  the  case ;  no  girl  of  spirit  is  willing 
to  be  thought  in  love  with  a  man  who  is  indifferent  to  her. 
Go  to  Helen,  and  tell  her  that  you  love  her  ;  and  then  we  will 
see  what  she  thinks  about  it.  Call  and  see  us  often,  Mr. 
Stacey;  we  are  always  at  home.  Good-evening,"  and  she 
closed  the  door. 

Fortunately,  Blanche  was  a  girl  possessing  a  large  fund  of 
good  temper  and  forbearance,  or  otherwise  she  would  have 
found  cause  for  regretting  the  pressing  invitation  she  had  given 
to  Harry  to  call  often.  He  did  call  often,  very  often  ;  and 
stayed  a  long  time  when  he  called.  His  idol  was  gone  from 
him,  and  his  only  solace  was  to  sit  and  talk  about  her  to 
Blanche.  He  had  had  no  confidant  before,  and  now,  for  the 
first  time,  knew  what  a  luxury  it  was.  Blanche  knew  his 


122  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

Helen,  and  could  understand  at  least  his  longings  to  hear  of 
her,  and  to  let  out  the  fullness  of  his  soul  to  a  willing  and 
sympathetic  ear.  So  he  sat  from  morning  till  night,  every  day, 
and  talked  with  her.  When  other  company  was  present,  upon 
general  topics,  and  when  they  were  alone,  scarcely  waiting  for 
the  door  to  close  upon  the  retreating  form,  before  flying  back 
to  that  which  was  nearest  to  his  heart.  She  kept  his  secret 
loyally,  and  encouraged  him  all  she  could.  But,  as  for  hazard 
ing  an  opinion  upon  his  prospects,  that  she  did  not  dare  to  do ; 
for  she  had  been,  herself,  sorely  puzzled  by  Helen's  treatment 
of  the  young  man,  and  could  not  quite  fathom  it. 

Harry's  frequent  visits  to  Blanche  were  not  long  in  attracting 
attention.  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon  was  almost  the  first  to  learn 
of  the  new  flirtation  that  was  going  on  in  No.  46,  the  apart 
ments  of  his  fiancee,  as  he  called  her.  "  I  will  bring  that  to  an 
end  quickly,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Bowles,  who  had,  with  faithful 
exactness,  made  and  reported  this  discovery.  So  the  black- 
browed  youth  bounced  into  No.  46,  where  Harry  and  Blanche 
sat,  his  moustache  pulled  so  tightly  as  to  draw  the  corners  of 
his  eyes  down  to  his  cheek-bones.  "So,  I  hear  you  have  a 
great  deal  of  company  lately,  Blanche,"  he  growled;  "for  a 
young  lady  engaged  to  be  married,  do  you  think  that  is  just  the 
thing  to  do  ?  " 

He  had  not  spoken  to  Harry,  nor  even  so  much  as  recog 
nized  his  presence. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  the  young  lady  sharply,  "if  it  happens  to 
suit  me.  I  like  company,  and  the  more  I  have,  the  better  I 
like  it,  if  it's  the  right  kind.  I  know  some  people  whose  com 
pany  I  don't  like,  and  they  will  oblige  me  by  staying  away  as 
much  as  possible." 

"That  is  my  chief  objection,"  said  Vanderbilt,  pretending 
not  to  see  the  sarcasm  levelled  at  himself.  "  It  is  not  your 
having  company,  but  it  is  the  quality  of  the  people  who  visit 
you.  There  are  some  people  I  don't  like." 

"  Are  there,"  she  cried,  sneeringly.  "( Fe !  fo  !  fum  !  I  smell 
the  blood  of  an  Englishman.'  Who  has  my  Lord  Nut-cracker 
seen  that  he  does  not  like  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  I  need  to  say,"  he  answered,  grumblingly. 

"  Well,  let  me  say  one  thing  to  you,  Mr.  Vanderbilt  Gud 
geon,"  said  the  young  lady,  now  assuming  a  decided  manner, 
and  rising  up  and  looking  the  young  man  in  the  eye,  "  by  way 
of  advice  ;  and  it  is  this  :  if  you  wish  me  to  see  less  of  any 
particular  individual,  your  best  plan  is  not  to  let  me  know,  or 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  123 

even  suspect  who  that  individual  is ;  for  if  I  find  out,  I  will 
have  no  one  else  come  to  see  me  except  that  person.  They 
shall  come  and  stay  all  the  time  !  Do  you  understand?  Don't 
go  away,  Mr.  Stacey,"  she  cried,  as  she  saw  Harry  rising  to 
depart;  "it  is  not  you  that  my  intended  husband  refers  to,  1  am 
sure.  Is  it,  Vandy  ?  "  she  said,  again  turning  to  that  gentleman. 

"No  ;  of  course  not.  No  one  could  object  to  Mr.  Stacey. 
I  am  sure  I  could  not  do  so." 

"There  now,  sit  down,  Harry;  I  know  that  Vandy  loves 
you  like  a  brother.  He  has  heard  of  some  one  else  that  he 
does  not  like,  and  he  has  come  in  an  angry  mood.  But  gener 
ous  Vandy  never  remains  angry  long.  You  accept  his  apology, 
do  you  not  ?  There,  be  friends,  and  love  each  other,"  and  she 
pulled  Mr.  Gudgeon  along,  and  forced  him  to  extend  his  hand 
to  the  frightened  Harry,  and  to  ask  him  to  sit  down  and  remain 
longer.  After  this  they  heard  at  least  no  open  objection  from 
Vanderbilt  Gudgeon  to  Harry's  visits. 

One  afternoon  the  young  man  came  in  to  take  leave  of 
Blanche  for  a  few  days.  He  was  going  to  Washoe  upon  busi 
ness  ;  what  business  he  had  never  told  her,  for  somehow  he 
had  always  felt  a  delicacy  in  the  position  of  counsel  for  Mr. 
Graham,  under  the  circumstances ;  he  had  a  notion  that  his 
position  was  almost  one  of  false  pretence.  Would  Mr.  Graham 
have  confided  his  legal  affairs  to  me  in  this  manner  had  he 
dreamed  that  I  thought  of  his  daughter  other  than  as  an  acquain 
tance  ? 

"  Going  to  Washoe?"  cried  Blanche,  joyously.  "  Then  you 
will  see  our  baby ;  Oh !  how  nice !  kiss  her  a  hundred  times 
for  me,  and  don't  forget  it." 

Seeing  Harry  blushing  at  the  very  idea,  she  stopped  and 
changed  her  manner. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  she  said,  "  I  was  only  thinking  of  myself  and 
of  the  pleasure  it  would  be  to  me  to  see  the  darling, — while 
you  need  to  see  her  more  than  I  do,  a  thousand  fold ;  sit  down 
and  let  me  talk  to  you." 

Harry  took  a  seat  on  the  corner  of  a  chair  like  a  school-boy 
about  to  be  catechised. 

"Don't  kiss  her  for  me,  not  once;  you  will  not  I  am  sure 
get  any  more  kisses  than  you  will  want  for  yourself,  and  I  will 
not  ask  you  to  divide  with  me.  I  wish  to  give  you  a  little  ad 
vice,  Harry." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  take  it  from  you,  Blanche,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  perhaps  so;  but  will  you  promise  to  follow  it." 


124  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"  I  will  do  my  best ;  I  cannot  promise  positively.  I  will  try 
to  behave  as  a  gentleman  ought  to  do." 

"Bother  the  gentlemen;  now  you  are  going  to  tell  me  that 
old  story  of  yours  about  what  is  due  to  Miss  Graham's  position, 
and  all  that  sort  of  nonsense.  The  fact  is,  I  believe,  Mr.  Sta- 
cey,  that  you  think  because  she  is  a  beautiful  girl,  and  good,  and 
all  that,  that  she  is  somehow  better  than  you  are." 

"Well,  perhaps,  Blanche,  you  are  not  far  from  the  mark.     I 
do  not  feel  that  in  my  present  circumstances,  I  ought  to  ask  * 
her  to  become  my  wife.     She  ought  not  to  marry  any  gentle 
man  with  no  better  prospects  in  life  than  I  have." 

"Nonsense,"  cried  Blanche,  evidently  losing  her  patience. 
"Do  you  know  that  it  is  just  such  notions  as  that  of  yours 
which  makes  old  maids  of  the  best  girls  in  the  country  ?  A  young 
fellow  sees  a  girl  that  he  fancies,  and  because  he  is  not  as  rich 
as  somebody  twenty  years  older  than  he  is,  retires  from  the 
contest,  and  lets  the  poor  girl  either  die  an  old  maid,  or  marry 
the  old  broken-down,  worn-out  coot,  in  despair  of  getting  a 
husband  that  she  can  love.  -Depend  upon  it,  Mr.  Harry,  that 
beautiful  as  Miss  Helen  Graham  is,  and  good  as  she  is, — and 
there  are  none  to  compare  with  her,  —  she  must  marry  some 
body  of  your  sex.  You  are  all  very  much  alike,  and  the  best 
of  you  are  bad  enough.  Now  do  you  happen  to  know  which 
of  your  sex  is  the  best  for  Miss  Graham?" 

"I  suppose,  Blanche,"  answered  Harry,  "that  it  is  the  hand 
somest  and  the  most  honorable  and  intelligent,  and  one  with 
at  least  enough  of  fortune  to  take  care  of  her." 

"Yes,  that  is  part  of  it,"  says  Blanche;  "but  can  you  think 
of  nothing  else  ?  " 

Harry  thought  of  nothing  else  of  much  importance.  \ 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  is  indispensable  in  the  gentleman 
Helen  Graham  is  to  marry.  She  must  love  him ;  and  if  she 
does  that,  the  other  things  will  be  taken  for  granted.  You  must 
not  disparage  yourself,  Mr.  Stacey,  because  you  have  not  now 
a  fortune.  What  are  we  all  doing  in  this  new  and  half-civilized 
country?  Do  we  come  here  in  pursuit  of  pleasure?  Of  course 
we  do  not ;  we  are  here  to  make  our  fortunes ;  not  one  of  us 
was  either  rich  or  great  in  our  old  homes,  though  some  of  us 
are  snobbish  enough  to  pretend  we  were;  had  we  been,  we 
should  have  stayed  away;  we  should  have  remained  with  our 
fortunes  like  sensible  people.  We  were  either  without  family, 
or  we  were  poor  relations,  which  is  even  worse.  You  stand  pre 
cisely  where  all  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  in  the  country  stood 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  125 

when  they  arrived,  with  this  difference,  that  you  have  come  a 
little  later  because  you  are  not  as  old  as  the  others.  Is  that  an 
objection  in  the  eyes  of  a  young  girl?  No,  it  is  all  in  your 
favor ;  the  fortune  will  come  to  you  as  it  generally  comes  to  all 
American  gentlemen.  It  comes  with  the  grey  hairs  and  the 
rheumatic  legs,  and  that  will  be  quite  soon  enough  for  it.  It 
is  not  needed  before.  When  nothing  else  is  left  in  life  worth 
living  for,  it  is  well  enough  to  have  money.  The  girl  who  is 
willing  to  marry  an  old,  decrepid  coot  of  a  husband  because  he 
has  wealth,  is  welcome  to  do  it;  I  shall  not  object,  for  it  is 
after  all  an  affair  of  taste.  But  I  will  take  the  young  fellow  I 
love,  if  I  can  get  him,  and  wait  for  the  money  to  come  with 
the  spectacles,  the  flannel  bandages,  and  the  gout.  For  in 
America  these  three  always  go  together.  If  you  will  believe 
me,  Mr.  Stacey,  though  Helen  Graham  does  not  speak  her 
mind  quite  as  freely  as  I  do,  in  her  heart  she  thinks  the  same 
way ;  and  so  thinks  every  girl  worth  having  in  the  whole  coun 
try.  You  are  going  to  Washoe  ;  you  will  see  her.  Don't  come 
away  without  telling  her  in  some  manner  that  you  love  her ; 
you  owe  this  to  her  at  least ;  no  gentleman  has  the  right  to  love 
a  girl  without  telling  her  of  it.  Her  mouth  is  closed  by  the 
rules  of  society ;  it  is  her  right  to  have  a  declaration  as  often 
as  she  has  inspired  a  passion.  The  gentleman  who  from  dread 
of  a  refusal,  or  for  any  reason,  withholds  from  a  lady  this  just 
due,  the  privilege  of  her  sex,  has  defrauded  her  of  one  of  the 
debts  which  her  very  helplessness  ought  to  have  insured  the 
payment  of.  In  sneaking  away  from  his  duty,  he  may  fancy 
that  he  has  escaped  a  humiliation ;  but  it  is  a  mistake  ;  the  dis 
grace  lies  in  avoiding  a  plain  duty.  When  an  honest  man  loves, 
he  says  so  boldly,  let  the  consequence  be  what  it  may.  And 
when  that  is  done,  he  stands  forth  a  nobleman ;  and  if  there 
has  been  a  mistake,  it  has  not  been  with  him  at  least.  When 
you  return,  Mr.  Stacey,  I  shall  expect  to  hear  a  good  account 
of  you.  Good-by,  sir." 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Blanche,"  he  answered,  and  in  a  half  hour 
he  was  steaming  away  upon  his  journey  to  Washoe.  But  he 
did  not  go  in  a  hopeful  mood.  He  was  still  oppressed  with 
the  weight  of  duty  that  he  believed  rested  upon  him  with  re 
spect  to  Mr.  Graham.  He  was  that  gentleman's  legal  adviser, 
and  was  under  his  pay  for  attending  to  that  matter.  Could  he 
court  the  daughter  under  cover  of  attending  to  the  father's 
business?  That  was  the  question  he  revolved  in  his  mind. 
Can  I,  he  demanded  of  himself,  take  advantage  of  his  confi- 


126  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

dence  in  such  a  manner  ?  I  am  travelling  in  his  service  and 
under  his  employment.  The  very  tickets  that  I  purchased  upon 
the  steamboats  and  stage  coaches,  will  in  the  end  be  paid  for 
with  his  money.  What  would  he  think  of  me  ?  What  would 
Helen  think  of  me  ?  What  would  I  think  of  myself,  if  I  were 
capable  of  turning  such  a  visit  to  account  for  my  own  advance 
ment  in  my  suit  with  her  ?  Filled  with  these  reflections,  he  sat 
down  under  the  after  awning  and  gazed  at  the  receding  city, 
now  sinking  into  the  green  waters  of  the  bay.  He  had  been 
so  short  a  time  in  San  Francisco,  that  he  knew  but  few  people, 
and  could  not  mingle  with  the  crowd  of  gossiping  passengers 
who  strolled  about  the  gangways  in  groups  talking  about  stocks 
and  politics  and  drinking  cocktails  and  whiskeys  straight.  He 
therefore  held  himself  aloof  from  them ;  he  had  not,  however, 
been  sitting  long  alone,  when  he  was  aroused  from  his  reverie 
by  the  v,oice  of  the  captain  of  the  steamer,  who  saluted  him 
politely,  and  said  that  he  was  delighted  to  see  him  on  board  his 
boat. 

"  Good  morning,  Captain  Poole,"  said  Harry;  "I  am  very 
glad  to  be  with  you  to-day." 

He  had  known  the  kind-hearted  captain  ever  since  he  had 
been  in  San  Francisco,  having  made  his  acquaintance  at  the 
Cosrnodental  Hotel,  directly  after  he  had  arrived.  Harry  told 
him  with  all  the  frankness  of  youth  whither  he  was  going  and 
what  would  be  the  length  of  his  detention. 

"To  Washoe!"  said  the  captain;  "it  is  a  rough  place,  I 
hear.  I  have  never  been  over  there ;  steamboating  keeps  a 
man  so  close  to  business  that  we  never  get  away,  not  for  a  min 
ute.  I  have  been  going  up  and.  down  this  Sacramento  river 
ever  since  '  '49,'  without  missing  a  single  trip,  so  you  may  know 
I  don't  go  about  the  country  much." 

"  Your  position  must  grow  irksome,  captain." 

"  Oh,  no  sir ;  no  man  can  ever  get  tired  of  such  a  beautiful 
prospect  as  this,"  said  Captain  Poole,  pointing  enthusiastically 
at  the  green  shores  of  the  bay,  as  if  they  were  his  own  private 
property.  "And  then  such  air,  sir;"  and  here  the  captain 
took  in  a  long  breath  of  the  wonderful  fluid,  and  let  it  out  again 
with  a  loud  snort,  as  if  to  show  his  perfect  confidence  in,  and 
familiarity  with  the  friendly  element. 

"The  finest  air  in  the  world,  Mr.  Stacey;  nothing  like  it  on 
the  entire  globe.  This  air,  sir,  is  perfectly  pure ;  it  has  been 
analy/ed  by  a  famous  scientific  man  up  at  Mud  Springs,  in  El 
dorado  county.  And  do  you  know  it  is  all  pure  oxygen  ?  A 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  127 

fact  upon  ray  honor ;  nothing  in  it  but  pure  oxygen  ;  no  other 
ingredient  whatever,  as  has  been  fully  demonstrated.  That  is 
why  you  can  take  so  much  of  it  in  at  a  breath."  And  the  cap 
tain  inhaled  such  a  bellows-mi  of  it,  to  show  the  young  lawyer 
its  wonderful  quality,  that  he  grew  red  in  the  face  and  was  in 
danger  of  bursting  a  blood  vessel. 

Harry  assured  him  that  there  could  be  no  longer  any  doubt 
of  the  purity  of  the  San  Francisco  bay  air ;  and  the  captain 
continued :  — 

"Then  again  I  don't  get  tired  of  the  business  because  I  know 
everybody  that  goes  up  and  down  on  the  boats.  Indeed,  Mr. 
Stacey,  I  know  everybody  in  the  country,  and  if  it  is  not  al 
ways  pleasant,  it  is  generally  exciting,  and  that  you  know  is  the 
next  thing  to  it.  The  public  all  travel  by  my  boat,  and  I  get 
acquainted  with  everybody  worth  knowing,  besides  some  that 
are  not." 

Here  a  tall,  respectable-looking  gentleman  came  round  the 
gangway  towards  them. 

"How  do  you  do,  Snakeweed?"  said  the  Captain.  "Mr. 
Stacey,  do  you  know  Mr.  Snakeweed?" 

Harry  had  not  had  that  pleasure. 

"Gentlemen,"  continued  the  captain,  "you  ought  to  know 
each  other,  being  both  lawyers.  Mr.  Snakeweed,  Mr.  Stacey , 
Mr.  Stacey,  Mr.  Snakeweed;"  and  the  captain  introduced  the 
two  gentlemen. 

Mr.  Snakeweed  shook  hands  warmly  with  Harry,  and  said 
that  he  was  indeed  most  happy  to  know  the  gentleman.  Just 
then  somebody  passed  behind  them,  to  whom  Mr.  Snakeweed 
wished  to  say  a  word ;  so,  without  letting  go  of  Harry's  hand,  he 
turned  and  conversed  for  a  moment  with  the  person  passing. 
While  this  was  going  on,  the  captain  drew  nearer  to  Harry  and 
spoke  in  a  confidential  tone  to  him. 

"  Keep  your  eye  on  the  old  scoundrel,"  pointing  with  his  fin 
ger  at  Mr.  Snakeweed.  "Don't  let  him  pick  your  pocket. 
You  understand  me.  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Stacey,  you  know  that, 
travelling  up  and  down  here  since  '  '49,'  I  meet  everybody  and 
am  expected  to  introduce  them  and  make  people  as  comfort 
able  as  possible.  This,  of  course,  I  do.  Nobody  can  complain 
of  want  of  attention  on  my  part.  I  introduce  all  without  excep 
tion.  But,  when  I  am  obliged  to  bring  about  an  acquaintance 
between  a  stranger,  and  especially  a  young  man  unaccustomed 
to  the  ways  of  the  country,  and  an  old  son-of-a-gun  like  this,  I 
always  try  and  drop  a  word  of  caution  so  that  he  can  button  up 


128  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

his  coat  while  he  is  around.  I  like  to  see  people  happy  and 
sociable,  but  I  don't  like  to  encourage  petty  larceny  on  my  boat. 
I  don't  say  as  much  to  you  as  I  would  if  you  were  a  positive 
greenhorn.  A  wink,  you  know,  is  as  good  as  a  nod  to  a  blind 
horse.  Good  evening,  sir,  I  must  go  on  deck  to  make  the 
Benecia  landing  and  will  see  you  again.  Keep  your  eye 
skinned.  That  is  all." 

"Mr.  Stacey,"  said  Mr.  Snakeweed,  turning  to  the  young 
man,  and  still  holding  on  to  his  hand  with  a  grasp  that  indicated, 
if  it  indicated  anything,  an  affection  of  many  years'  standing, 
"  let  us  take  seats." 

So  they  took  seats. 

"  It  does  me  good,  always,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  young 
members  of  the  bar.  I  like  to  take  them  by  the  hand  and  to 
encourage  them.  In  young  lawyers,  sir,  we  veterans  of  the  pro 
fession  see  ourselves  repeated.  We  can  look  at  them  with  a 
retrospective  glance,  and  know  just  what  we  ourselves  were  like 
so  many  years  ago." 

Harry  was  glad,  so  he  said,  to  be  able  to  afford  Mr.  Snake- 
weed  so  fine  an  opportunity  of  looking  upon  a  picture  of  his 
early  self.  He  would  also  have  been  glad  to  have  been  able  to 
free  his  hand  from  the  grasp  of  that  gentleman,  if  he  could  have 
done  so  without  appearing  to  be  rude,  but  he  omitted  to  men 
tion  this  additional  wish. 

"Have  you  been  long  on  this  coast,  Mr.  Stacey?" 

Harry  had  not  been  long,  only  a  few  months. 

"  You  have,  I  trust,  finally  cast  in  your  lot  amongst  us.  That 
is,  you  are  going  to  practice  law  in  San  Francisco." 

"  Yes,"  Harry  said.  "  Indeed,  I  have  already  commenced  in 
a  small  way." 

"  Good,  good,  very  good !  I  am  always  glad  to  see  young 
men  commence.  It  shows  that  when  we  veterans  are  shoved 
off  the  stage  there  will  be  some  one  left  of  the  right  sort  to  take 
our  places.  You  are  going  to  Sacramento  to  attend  the  Su 
preme  Court,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Stacey?" 

No,  Harry  would  not  stop  at  the  capital.  He  was  on  his 
way  to  a  more  distant  destination.  He  was  going  to  Washoe. 

"To  Washoe  ?"  cried  Mr.  Snakeweed  with  a  burst  of  bound 
less  delight,  during  which  he  took  a  renewed  and  fresh  grasp  of 
Harry's  hand,  just  as  the  poor  fellow  was  in  strong  hopes  of  with 
drawing  it.  "To  Washoe?  Indeed,  that  is  delightful.  I  am 
going  to  the  same  place  myself.  Do  you  go  on  in  the  morn 
ing?" 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  129 

Yes,  Harry  was  going  on  in  the  morning. 

"  Then  we  shall  be  companions." 

Mr.  Stacey  thanked  him. 

"  Do  you  go  over  to  look  at  the  country,  with  an  idea  of  set 
tling  there  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  going  over  on  business  that  will  detain  me  but  a 
few  days,  when  I  shall  return  directly." 

"  Precisely  my  own  case,"  said  Mr.  Snakeweed. 

Mr.  Milchisadek  Snakeweed  had  wandered  through  all  the 
new  territories  from  Oregon  to  New  Mexico,  at  times  practis 
ing  as  an  attorney  at  the  bar,  but  often  turning  up  in  some 
mysterious  way  as  a  judge  upon  the  bench.  It  was  understood 
that  in  his  career  he  had  been  chief-justice  of  no  less  than  three 
territories  and  one  State.  But,  for  five  years  before  the  com 
mencement  of  our  story,  he  had  been  settled  down  as  the  San 
Francisco  partner  of  Mr.  Napoleon  B.  Spelter. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

EDUCATION    FORMS    THE    COMMON    MIND. 

HARRY  saw  nothing  more  of  his  new  friend,  Mr.  Snakeweed, 
until  they  reached  the  part  of  the  route  where  they  took  the 
stage-coach  to  cross  the  mountains.  Here  they  again  met,  and 
shook  hands  and  congratulated  each  other  upon  the  successful 
progress  of  the  journey.  The  coach  was  waiting  for  them  at 


130  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

the  terminal  station  of  the  railroad,  when  they  came  out  with 
their  carpet-bags. 

"Here  we  are,"  cried  Mr.  Snakeweed,   "this  is  our  coach." 

It  was  a  clean,  comfortable  affair,  with  six  horses  all  prancing, 
as  if  anxious  to  begin  the  toilsome  march.  The  driver  was  in 
his  seat,  and  shouting  loudly  to  hasten  the  passengers  to  come 
forward  and  take  their  places.  He  saw  Harry  as  he  crossed  the 
platform. 

"This  way,  colonel,"  cried  the  driver.  "I  knew  you  were 
coming,  sir,  and  so  saved  the  seat  for  you  up  here  with  me." 

Harry  was  anxious  to  ride  outside,  as  it  was  his  first  visit  to 
the  mountains,  and  he  was  naturally  desirous  of  viewing  the 
scenery.  But  hearing  himself  invited  to  asosnd  by  the  title  of 
Colonel,  he  drew  back,  thinking  that  perhaps  he  had  been  mis 
taken  for  another  person. 

"  It  is  all  right,  general,"  cried  the  driver,  still  pointing  to  the 
vacant  place  at  his  side.  "  I  have  kept  it  for  you,  sir,  I  have, 
upon  my  honor,"  he  continued,  seeing  Harry  still  hesitate. 
"Jump  up  quick,  sir." 

Harry  ascended  and  took  his  place. 

"  I  had  a  gentleman  with  me,"  he  said  to  the  driver,  "  that 
might  perhaps  wish  to  have  this  other  place,  if  it  is  not  taken 
already  ?  " 

"  Who  is  the  gentleman?"  was  the  answer  in  a  loud  voice. 
"  Is  it  old  Snakey  ?  That  big  fellow  that  came  out  of  the  sta 
tion  with  you  ?  " 

Harry  intimated  that  it  was  the  same. 

"  He  don't  want  to  ride  on  the  box  with  me ;  he  don't.  He 
always  goes  inside.  The  air  up  here  is  too  fresh  for  old  Snake- 
weed,  he  can't  stand  it." 

The  coach  was  now  filled,  and  there  being  no  more  passen 
gers,  they  started  away  up  the  mountains  at  a  swinging  trot. 

Harry  was  too  much  interested  in  his  own  thoughts  during 
the  first  few  hours  to  be  very  communicative,  and  the  driver 
began  to  suspect  that  he  had  not  been  very  fortunate  in  the 
choice  he  had  made  of  a  companion  for  himself.  But  towards 
the  middle  of  the  day,  as  they  made  their  way  deeper  into  the 
mountain  gorges,  the  two  gradually  became  better  acquainted 
until  they  seemed  like  old  friends  whose  intimacy  was  of  years, 
standing. 

Harry  soon  learned  what  there  was  to  know  of  the  driver. 
This  from  his  own  lips  :  "  His  name  was  John  Gowdy,  so  he  said, 
though  he  was  better  known  amongst  the  gentlemen  with  whom 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  131 

he  associated  as  Jack.  He  was  born  upon  the  banks  of  Buffalo 
Creek,  in  the  State  of  Missouri,  whither  his  father  had  immi 
grated,  some  forty  years  before  from  North  Carolina,  very  near 
to  the  Virginia  line.  He  was  a  gentleman  both  by  birth  and 
breeding,  and  his  associations  had  always  been  with  gentlemen 
like  himself.  His  education  had  been  put  in  train,  as  was  the 
custom  of  the  youth  of  his  country,  by  a  trip  to  New  Orleans 
on  the  deck  of  a  flatboat.  It  was  true  he  was  not  wholly  igno 
rant  even  before  that  journey,  for  he  already  possessed  the 
accomplishments  of  chewing  tobacco  and  playing  "  seven  up," 
or  old  sledge.  These  rudimentary  acquirements,  owing  to  bis 
own  natural  aptness,  his  father  at  home,  with  the  aid  of  two 
elder  brothers,  had  been  able  to  teach  the  youth  without  any 
very  considerable  difficulty.  But  the  boy,  with  a  foresight  be 
yond  his  years,  even  at  the  early  age  of  eignteen  foresaw  that 
he  should  not  be  able  to  make  his  way  in  the  world  by  chewing 
tobacco  and  the  knowledge  of  a  single  game  of  cards  alone, 
more  especially  if  he  should  ever  chance  to  cast  his  lot  in  a 
country  where  a  variety  of  games  were  played,  and  where  "  fine 
cut"  should  happen  to  be  an  expensive  luxury.  So  the  New 
Orleans  expedition  was  planned  and  executed  to  add  to  his 
culture  and  to  enlarge  his  views.  It  was  not,  taken  as  a  whole 
(so  the  driver  said  in  confidence  to  Harry)  a  success.  For 
upon  his  return,  though  he  had  slightly  added  to  his  already 
considerable  knowledge  of  swearing,  which  was  perhaps  a  gain, 
on  the  other  hand,  a  valuable  lot  of  coon  skins,  which  had  been 
confided  to  him  by  his  tender  parent  to  sell  in  the  advantageous 
market  of  the  Southern  metropolis,  had  been,  before  he  reached 
that  city,  entirely  frittered  away  in  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  add 
to  his  imperfect  knowledge  of  cards.  This  had  been  done 
chiefly  under  the  instruction  of  a  strange  gentleman  who  had 
come  on  board  as  a  casual  visitor  at  Napoleon,  in  Arkansas. 
"Euchre"  was  the  gentleman's  game,  said  the  driver,  with  a 
grim  smile,  "  and  I  had  never  seenitplayed  before ;  and  when 
the  stranger  said  that  in  that  game  the  jack  took  the  ace,  and 
pulled  out  a  six-shooter  and  stuck  it  right  into  my  face  to 
prove  it,  I  told  him  that  I  had  no  doubt  it  was  all  right,  but  I 
did  not  want  to  play  any  more  at  a  game  where  an  ace  wasn't 
a  better  card  than  a  bare-legged  jack,  and  I  never  have  from 
that  day  to  this.  But  he  took  the  coon  skins  and  carried  them 
ashore,  and  that  was  the  last  I  saw  of  them." 

"What  did  your  father  say  to  you  when  you  got  home?"  in 
quired  Harry. 


132  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

"  Not  much ;  the  old  man  was  always  a  just  man.  I  told  him 
what  the  hand  was  that  I  held  when  I  bet  away  the  peltry,  and 
he  said  I  did  right  to  bet  it ;  that  the  hand  was  a  good  hand 
and  that  I  had  played  it  to  win.  But  that,  of  course,  I,  a  mere 
boy,  could  not  calculate  on  the  stranger  backing  his  hand  up 
with  firearms.  The  old  man  believed  to  the  day  of  his  death 
that  I  lost  the  coon  skins  on  the  six-shooter,  and  not  on  the 
cards.  '  There  never  was  a  game  played  with  cards  in  this 
world,'  said  the  old  gentleman  to  his  three  sons,  almost  on  his 
death-bed,  'where  the  jack  could  take  the  ace  if  that  game  was 
fairly  played.  But,  of  course,'  said  he,  '  if  firearms  are  pulled 
on  you  then  that  alters  the  thing  considerably.'  The  old  man 
was  not  very  wide  of  the  mark  on  that  point.  Do  you  think  he 
was,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  that  the  six-shooter  would  have  a  material 
bearing  upon  the  result,"  answered  Harry. 

"  My  father,"  continued  Jack,  "  was  wrong  about  the  cards 
where  he  said  the  jack  never  takes  the  ace,  but  you  see,  sir,  the 
old  man  had  never  travelled." 

"  What  did  you  do  next  in  the  way  of  adding  to  your  educa 
tion  ?  "  inquired  Harry. 

"  I  stayed  at  home  that  winter  and  played  poker.  But  the 
next  year  I  went  to  Santa  Fe  with  Frank  Aubrey.  In  fact  I 
made  two  trips  out  there.  I  learned  a  good  deal ;  but  not 
much  that  was  ever  to  my  advantage.  I  learned  to  drink  whis 
key,  more  of  it  than  was  good  for  me,  and  I  bucked  a  little  at 
monte  which,  you  know,  is  a  great  game  amongst  Mexicans, 
and  I  learned  to  go  agin'  pharo.  Then  I  came  home  to  Old 
Pike  with  a  long  beard  hanging  down  on  my  breast  and  my 
hair  over  my  shoulders.  I  had  a  Mexican  saddle  and  leggings, 
and  I  had  a  pair  of  spurs,  as  big  round  as  breakfast  plates,  that 
jingled  on  the  ground  as  I  walked.  And  I  thought,  and  every 
body  else  thought,  that,  next  to  General  Jackson,  I  was  the 
greatest  man  that  ever  lived  since  the  creation  of  the  world." 

"No  doubt  you  were  a  great  man,  Jack.     Why  not?" 

"Why  not!  Well,  I  don't  know  exactly,  unless  it  was  be 
cause  I  could  not  hold  my  own.  I  not  only  did  not  know  how 
to  earn  a  livelihood,  but  I  could  not  keep  what  little  I  had 
brought  home  with  me  from  New  Mexico." 

"  How  was  that  ?"  asked  Harry. 

"  Well,  sir,  when  I  got  back  from  Santa  Fe,  I  brought  a  few 
hundred  dollars  with  me.  It  was  what  was  left  of  the  money 
that  Aubrey  had  paid  me  for  helping  him  across  the  country 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  133 

after  the  pharo  and  the  monte  dealers  had  taken  their  toll  out 
of  it.  With  that  I  expected  to  have  a  good  time  generally, 
staying  at  home  for  a  year  at  least." 

"  Why  did  you  not,  Jack  ?" 

"Well,  the  truth  was,  sir,  that  while  I  had  been  away  in 
New  Mexico,  improving  myself  in  foreign  and  new-fangled 
games,  monte  and  pharo  and  a  little  of  euchre  and  poker  as 
side  accomplishments,  I  had  not  kept  up  with  the  times  in 
old  sledge.  If  you  will  believe  me,  sir,"  and  here  Jack 
turned  and  addressed  his  passenger  as  if  to  impress  an  impor 
tant  fact  upon  his  mind,  "  the  boys  that  had  never  been  out 
of  sight  of  home  since  they  were  born  beat  me  out  of  every 
red  cent  I  had,  in  less  than  three  weeks  after  I  got  back  home. 
And  how  do  you  suppose  they  did  it,  sir  ?  " 

Harry  could  not  even  make  a  guess  at  the  possible  means 
employed  by  the  youth  of  the  country  in  this  wonderful  feat. 

"Well,  sir,  they  won  the  coin  playing  old  sledge  with  me 
across  the  dead  logs  that  lay  around  in  the  woods,  and  in  hay 
lofts  and  such  places.  So  much  for  foreign  travel,  sir,"  said  Jack, 
in  deep  disgust  at  the  recollection. 

Harry  was  forced  to  admit  that  it  had  certainly  failed  to 
improve  Jack  in  the  amusement  of  his  native  land. 

"You  bet  your  life  it  failed,  sir.  There  was  not  an  eight 
een-year  old  boy  in  the  country  that  was  not  just  laying  for 
me  till  my  money  was  all  gone.  They  quit  their  regular 
employment  and  came  down  in  swarms  till  they  cleaned 
me  out." 

"When  your  money  was  all  gone  what  did  you  do?  Go  to 
work  and  earn  more  ?  " 

"No,  I  could  not  do  it  there.  I  did  not  know  how.  I  had 
no  profession  nor  trade  nor  any  other  means  of  making  a 
living." 

"But  you  still  had  your  spurs  and  leggings  and  Mexican 
saddle.  You  were  almost  as  great  as  General  Jackson  were 
you  not?" 

"  Yes,  I  had  them.  But  I  was  no  longer  a  great  man.  A 
gentleman  without  the  means  of  living  is  a  very  fine  thing  in 
his  way.  In  those  days  if  he  had  a  Mexican  saddle  and  big 
spurs,  it  added  a  great  charm  to  him.  But  that  was  all.  It 
could  not  alone  make  him  as  great  a  man  as  old  Hickory,  at 
least  not  till  after  he  had  whipped  the  British  or  been  elected 
President  of  the  United  States.  Then  it  might." 


134  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"Well,  Tack'  inquired  Harry,  "when  you  found  you  could 
not  earn  a  livelihood  in  Missouri  what  did  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  went  back  to  Santa  Fe  and  bucked  at  monte  a  while  and 
drank  more  "  tangle  lig."  Then  I  went  up  to  Taos  and  went 
again  pharo,  not  forgetting  to  wrestle  with  the  whiskey  every 
time  I  got  a  chance  at  it,  which  was  about  seventy-five  times 
a  day.  So  I  worked  my  way  out  along  the  Gila,  fighting  the 
Apaches  and  bad  liquors,  sometimes  getting  the  best  of  the 
savages,  but  never  of  the  spirits,  till  I  found  myself  at  Los 
Angelos  and  so  at  last  came  up  here." 

"How  did  you  come  to  be  a  stage-driver,  Jack  ?" 

"Well,  I  could  not  keep  my  end  up  any  other  way.  You 
know  there  are  some  unlucky  devils  in  this  world  that  things 
never  go  right  with.  No  matter  what  they  put  their  hands  to 
they  will  fail  just  from  misfortune.  Well,  sir,  I  am  one  of  that 
sort.  I  can't  make  a  living  at  no  game  of  cards  that  was  ever 
invented.  So  I  am  obliged  to  have  some  outside  employment 
so  as  to  raise  a  stake  when  I  am  broke.  Now,  there  is  Bob 
Greathouse  and  Jack  Skaggs,  two  as  elegant  gentlemen  as  ever 
walked  on  top  of  earth.  Do  you  know  them,  Mr.  Stacey  ?  " 

Harry  regretted  to  say  that  he  did  not. 

"More's  the  pity,  for  they  are  gentlemen  anybody  might  be 
proud  to  know.  Weil,"  continued  Jack,  "them  fellows  are 
lucky.  All  they  ask  is  a  square  deal  and  no  favors  and  that 
they  usually  get.  Most  folks  hereabouts  think  it  is  not  safe  to 
keep  them  from  having  it.  They  can  make  a  good  comfortable 
living  without  any  incidental  employment  in  addition.  But  I 
can't  do  it,  I  am  too  unlucky.  If  I  didn't  drive  stage  I  would 
starve  to  death,  or,"  seeing  Harry  look  incredulously  "what  is 
worse,  I  would  be  obliged  to  hang  around  some  four-bit  gambling 
table  playing  white  checks,  for  I  would  never  have  enough  money 
to  play  like  a  gentleman.  Sir,  when  I  go  agin'  pharo,  I  go  agin'  it 
as  a  white  man  ought  to  go  agin'  it.  I  play  red  checks  twenty 
dollars  at  a  pop.  I  am  no  free  nigger,  nor  mean  Yankee,  nor 
New  York  sneak,  to  hang  about  a  table  betting  half  dollars  on 
case  cards  ;  you  bet  your  life  I  am  not.  Am  I  not  right,  sir  ?  " 

Harry  did  not  understand  the  matter  very  thoroughly,  but  so 
far  as  he  could,  he  felt  disposed  to  agree  with  Jack. 

"Of  course,  I  am  right.  How  is  the  dealer  to  live  if  that 
sneaking  game  is  played  on  him  ?  Who  is  to  pay  for  his  lights  ? 
Where  is  his  rent  to  come  from?  Can  you  tell  me?" 

Harry  could  not.     He  did  not  know. 

"Of  course  you  can't!     No  gentleman  can.     My  motto  is 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  135 

<  live  and  let  live'  and  that  is  a  gentleman's  motto.  And  when 
I  forget  it  I  want  the  Apaches  to  take  the  hair  off  my  head 
clean  as  the  bottom  of  a  baby's  foot,  the  same  day  and  early  in 
the  forenoon.  When  I  can't  play  like  a  gentleman,  I  shall 
hand  in  my  checks  and  quit,*  that's  all." 

"How  did  you  learn  to  drive  stage  ?  You  know  you  told  me 
that  you  had  no  trade,  or  profession,  never  having  learned  any." 

"How  did  I  learn  to  drive  horses,  sir?"  inquired  Jack,  as 
if  struck  by  the  strangeness  of  the  question.  "  Why  I  did  not 
learn  at  all,  I  always  knew  how  from  the  first." 

Seeing  Harry  still  waiting  as  if  not  understanding  it,  he 
continued,  — 

"  I  did  not  have  to  learn.  Driving  horses  and  playing  old 
sledge  comes  naturally  to  all  Missouri  and  Arkansas  boys. 
They  always  know  how.  Anything  else  they  are  obliged  to 
learn  at  schools,  though  their  education  often  stops  where  nature 
left  it." 

"  Why  Jack,  is  not  education  general  in  your  country  ?  " 

"  Some  sorts  is,  sir,  but  not  book-learning.  I  used  to  know 
how  to  read  a  little,  but  writing  was  always  too  much  for  me 
I  never  took  to  it." 

"  Why  was  that ;  did  you  not  have  schools  ?  " 

"Yes,  sometimes,  but  they  were  too  uncertain  to  do  much 
good  in  my  day.  We  had  to  do  so  much  tarring  and  feather 
ing." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Jack  ? " 

"  You  sec,  sir,  schoolmasters  are  always  Yankees.  I  never 
knew  just  why  it  happens  to  be  so,  but  they  are.  Maybe  its 
because  the  business  is  so  sneaking  that  nobody  else  wants  to 
follow  it.  Yankees,  you  know,  are  always  crazy  about  what 
they  call  the  cause  of  education  and  such  trash.  They  want  to 
educate  everything  they  get  their  hands  on,  from  niggers  up  to 
dogs  and  white  people.  Well,  sir,  on  account  of  this  Yankee 
peculiarity,  we  could  never  keep  a  school  going  more  than  two 
or  three  months  at  a  time,  before  we  would  find  out  that  the 
teacher  was  so  anxious  to  spread  education,  that  the  little 
niggers  would  begin  to  know  their  a  b  c's.  They  would  be 
teaching  them  of  nights,  sir." 

*  In  betting  at  the  game  of  pharo,  the  player  uses  ivory  counters  called 
"checks."  These  are  surrendered  or  handed  in  to  the  dealer  when  the 
game  closes,  or  when  the  player  leaves  off  betting.  In  the  far  west 
"to  hand  in  checks"  is  a  familiar  way  of  expressing  our  intended  yielding 
up  or  surrender. 


136  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"Well,  what  of  that?"  asked  Harry,  innocently. 

"  What  of  it ! "  cried  Jack,  in  amazement,  "  enough  of  it. 
The  school  would  come  to  a  sudden  end.  The  teacher  would 
find  himself  in  a  coat  of  tar  and  feathers,  and  being  rowed 
across  the  Missisippi  river.  And  he  would  be  in  mighty  big 
luck,  I  can  tell  you,  if  the  canoe  did  not  upset  with  him,  before 
he  got  to  the  other  side.  After  that,  we  generally  would  have 
a  good  deal  of  trouble  in  finding  another  teacher,  and  maybe 
the  school  would  be  shut  up  a  whole  year  till  the  scholars  had 
forgotten  all  they  had  learned  in  the  first  one." 

"  Now  I  understand  it,"  said  Harry. 

"  Understand  it ;  of  course  you  do.  It  is  simple  enough," 
said  Jack ;  "  anybody  can  understand  it.  Everybody  knows 
what  a  Yankee  schoolmaster  is  without  having  to  be  told. 
They  are  the  meanest,  sneakinest,  most  meddlesome  crea 
tures  in  the  world.  And  they  are  never  satisfied  with  any 
thing.  I  never  just  happened  to  kill  one,  because  I  am  a 
goodnatured  man  and  don't  like  to  kill  anybody  unless  they 
do  me  a  personal  wrong.  But  I  have  had  a  good  deal  of 
provocation  from  Yankee  schoolmasters  in  my  time,  and  won 
der  I  have  not  killed  a  score  of  them  before  now.  Do  you 
know  they  are  all  abolitonists,  sir  ?  " 

"Are  they  indeed?"  asked  Harry. 

"  Every  one,  sir,  to  my  positive  knowledge.  There  never 
was  an  exception.  And  the  women  are  if  possible  worse  than 
the  men.  Have  you  not  found  them  so  ?  " 

Harry  thought  his  observation  tallied  much  with  Jack's. 

"  Well,  sir,  education  if  it  is  to  be  obtained  at  the  price  of 
association  with  such  people,  is  better  dispensed  with.  Those 
are  my  sentiments,  sir,  and  they  are  the  sentiments  of  every 
gentleman  that  I  have  talked  with,  that  was  not  a  free  nigger,* 
mean  Yankee,  or  a  sneak.  Don't  you  think  so,  sir?" 

Harry  had  never  thought  much  upon  the  subject. 

"  I  know  I  am  right,"  continued  Jack.  "  I  can  drive  horses,  and 
I  can  play  a  pretty  good  game  of  old  sledge,  if  the  cards  are  fairly 
dealt ;  and  I  can  read  a  little,  if  the  print  is  plain.  It  is  not 
as  much  education  quite  as  I  should  like  to  have.  I  would 
like  to  be  able  to  write  and  to  cipher.  But  I  have  never  felt 
the  need  of  them  enough  to  be  willing  to  do  anything  unbecom 
ing  of  a  gentleman,  to  learn  how.  And  I  call  associating  with 
abolitionists,  and  black  republicans,  and  free  niggers,  and 
such  Yankee  sneaks,  upon  terms  of  equality,  as  things  unbe- 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  137 

coming  in  a  gentleman.  Have  you  many  abolitionists  about 
where  you  come  from,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes,  a  good  many,"  answered  Harry;  "but  they  don't 
trouble  us  much." 

"I  suppose  they  have  gbne  off  to  the  war,  now;  have  they 
not,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  a  great  many  have  ;  but  there  are  still  some  left." 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  tar  and  feathers  on  them,  sir  ?  " 

Harry  had  never  known  of  that  stringent  remedy  being 
applied  to  the  evil. 

"It  is  splendid,"  said  Jack;  "it  is  not  so  satisfactory  as 
hanging,  sir ;  but  it  is  better,  in  the  long  run,  for  it  don't  make 
such  a  row.  I  never  saw  any  thing  so  good  as  tar  and  feathers 
for  abolitionists.  Only,"  he  added,  thoughtfully,  "  I  don't  like 
to  see  it  applied  to  women ;  and,  what  is  more,  I  never  did  see 
it  done,  neither  ;  though  I  have  heard  of  it  in  other  places,  and 
that  may  have  been  a  black  republican  lie,  you  know.  A  woman, 
sir,  is  a  woman  ;  I  don't  care  where  she  comes  from,  nor  what 
she  is.  Even  if  she  is  a  Yankee  schoolma'am,  it  is  not  her 
fault  ;  she  can't  help  it  !  And  she  is  only  the  more  to  be 
pitied,  even  if  she  happens  to  be  a  abolitionist,  as  they  all  are. 
Of  course  they  must  be  made  to  leave  the  country,  as  soon  as 
they  are  found  out.  That  is  a  necessity  ;  but  that  is  all.  No 
man  ever  raises  his  hands,  with  impunity,  against  a  woman,  in 
Jack  Gowdy's  presence.  You  bet  your  life,  at  least,  while  he 
has  his  tools  with  him,  any  how  ;  if  he  does,  he'll  hear  from 
Jack  as  a  gentleman  should  be  heard  from,  damned  quick. 
Excuse  me  for  the  oath,  in  your  presence,  sir ;  for  I  know  what 
is  due  from  one  gentleman  to  another,  as  well  as  any  man  that 
ever  walked  oil  top  of  the  earth." 

Harry  excused  the  oath,  and  commended  the  sentiment  that 
had  called  it  forth. 

"  You  say  many  of  them  have  gone  off  to  the  army,"  con 
tinued  Jack  ;  "I  wonder  you  don't  go  for  the  rascals  that 
remain  behind.  It  it  would  be  a  good  time  to  get  rid  of  the 
whole  breed  at  once.  The  southern  army  will  take  care  of 
those  who  come  their  way ;  and  if  the  gentlemen  in  the  North 
would  only  attend  to  their  end  of  the  line,  the  whole  breed 
would  be  cleared  out  directly." 

Harry  said  that  they  had  peculiar  notions  in  his  part  of  the 
country,  about  such  things.  Folks  would  not  be  tarred  and 
feathered  there,  no  matter  how  much  they  might  deserve  such 
treatment. 


138  ROBERT  GREATHOUSR. 

11  What  part  of  the  country  might  you  come  from,  Mr.  Sta- 
cey  ?"  inquired  Jack,  who  had  long  since  learned  his  passen 
ger's  name. 

''From  Ohio,"  answered  Harry. 

"  Oh  !  then  you  are  a  Yankee,  yourself,"  cried  Jack. 

u  I  do  not  know  just  what  you  consider  a  Yankee,"  answered 
Harry. 

"Well,  anybody  from  up  your  way  ;  but  we  divide  them  up, 
you  know,  into  classes.  There  are  the  Michigan  Yankees,  and 
the  Ohio  Yankees.  But  the  most  of  the  Yankees  come  from 
New  York.  Then  there  is  another  sort,  called  the  blue-bellied 
Yankees,  that  come  from  somewhere  further  off;  I  don't  know 
exactly  where.  They  are  the  worst  kind ;  they  are  most  all 
schoolmasters  and  preachers,  and  they  say  they  are  all  aboli 
tionists  without  exception.  But  about  that,  I  don't  know, 
positively  ;  and  when  I  don't  know  a  thing  for  certain,  I  don't 
like  to  circulate  it,  for  it  may  prove  to  be  a  slander." 

Harry  agreed  in  the  justice  of  the  reservation. 

"There  is  nothing  very  bad  about  an  Ohio  Yankee,"  said 
Jack,  with  an  evident  desire  to  help  his  new  friend  out  of  a 
position  that  was  clearly  more  his  misfortune  than  his  fault. 

"  Were  you  born  in  Ohio  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes  ; "  said  Harry,  "  I  was  born  there. 

"What  business  do  you  pretend  to  follow?  " 

"  1  am  a  lawyer,"  answered  Harry. 

"  Lawyer !  "  cried  Jack,  with  an  accent  that  betrayed  a  strong 
suspicion  on  his  part  that  he  was  riding  with  an  improper  char 
acter. 

"  Don't  you  like  lawyers,  Jack  ?  "  asked  Harry. 

"  Well,  I  have  seen  people  that  I  liked  better,  and  I  have 
seen  people  that  I  didn't  like  so  well.  For  instance,  there  isj 
preachers,  especially  Methodist  preachers.  I  tell  you,  Mr. 
Stacey,  preachers  is  chain  lightning.  But  there  are  good  and 
bad  of  all  sorts,  you  know." 

"  What  is  your  objection  to  preachers,  Jack?" 

"  Nothing  special,  except  their  luck  ;  they  are  the  luckiest 
men  in  the  world.  There  is  no  use  trying  to  go  agin'  'em.  If 
you  hold  four  aces,  and  a  Methodist  preacher  raises  you,  you 
don't  dare  to  call  him  ;  if  you  do,  you  are  gone  certain ;  for  he 
is  sure  to  have  a  straight  flush,  with  a  six-shooter  to  back  it  up, ' 
if  it  is  necessary ;  and  he  will  rake  the  board  every  time. 
They  are  the  worst  men  in  the  deck  to  play  agin'." 

"Is  that  your  objection  to  lawyers,  Jack?" 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  139 

"  No,  sir ;  lawyers  seldom  play  cards.  They  are  too  smart 
to  bet  on  anything  so  uncertain.  They  don't  take  chances, 
they  don't.  They  can  make  money  easier,  by  stealing  it  square 
out.  We  have  one  aboard  here,  now,  sir,  that's  some  on  the 
steal,"  and  Jack  pointed  his  whip  down  at  the  door  of  the 
coach,  and  looked  hard  at  Harry  to  see  if  he  understood  the 
allusion.  Seeing  he  did  not,  he  continued,  "  Old  Snakey." 

"  You  mean  Mr.  Snakeweed,  Jack,  I  suppose." 

"You  bet  your  life  I  don't  mean  anybody  else  but  him. 
Anything  that  he  won't  steal  must  be  red-hot,  and  it  must 
weigh  over  five  hundred  pounds.  And,"  continued  Jack,  in  a 
confidential  undertone,  "if  you  are  going  to  leave  any  pro 
perty  of  that  sort  around  that  you  don't  want  to  have  change 
hands,  you  had  better  take  care  that  there  is  not  a  pair  of  tongs 
within  twenty  miles  of  the  place.  For  if  you  do,  Old  Snakey 
will  get  away  with  it  sure." 

"You  don't  seem  to  like  Mr.  Snakeweed,  Jack." 

"  I  haven't  nothing  special  against  him,  except  that  he  will 
steal." 

Harry,  of  course,  understood  that  Jack's  language  applied  to 
the  general  dishonest  character  of  Mr.  Snakeweed,  and  nOt 
that  he  was  actually  guilty  of  technical  theft. 

"  What  has  he  done  to  you,  Jack,  that  makes  you  so  severe 
upon  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  sir,  except  that  I  know  him;  that  is  all." 

At  this  moment  the  station  for  changing  horses  came  in 
view,  and  with  a  loud  cracking  of  whips,  followed  by  an  addi 
tional  tug,  the  wearied  horses  galloped  up  to  the  stable. 

"Look  sharp,  there,  boy,"  cried  Jack,  "and  put  these 
horses  to  the  coach,  quick ;  for  I  am  already  behind  time. 
Don't  go  to  sleep  now  in  your  tracks,  do  you  hear?  " 

The  boy  worked  as  fast  as  he  could ;  so  Harry  thought  and 
suggested  to  Jack.  But  he  was  told  that  his  scolding  was  only 
a  matter  of  form,  to  keep  the  boys  from  falling  into  the  erro 
neous  notion  that  he  (Jack)  was  a  sardine,  to  be  chucked  about 
at  pleasure.  A  status  that  it  appeared  required  the  utmost 
watchfulness  to  avoid  acquiring. 


140  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

JACK    GOWDY   BUYS    MINING   SHARES. 

WHEN  the  horses  had  been  put  to  the  coach,  and  they  were 
again  rattling  along  the  road,  Harry  reminded  Jack  of  what  he 
had  said  before  stopping,  about  Mr.  Melchisedec  Snakeweed. 

"  I  remarked,  Jack,  that  you  did  not  appear  to  be  fond  of 
him.  I  am  curious  to  know  what  is  the  cause  of  your  special 
dislike  to  that  gentleman." 

"Well,  I  have  nothing  especial  against  him  except  that  I 
know  him.  I  think  that  is  my  most  serious  cause  of  dislike  to 
old  Snakey.  If  I  did  not  know  him,  I  suppose  I  should  like 
him  well  enough." 

This,  Jack  said  with  an  air  of  moderation,  as  if  to  smooth 
away  his  former  decided  hostility.  But,  observing  that  Harry 
did  not  appear  satisfied  with  the  explanation,  Jack  continued,  — 

"You,  no  doubt,  observed,  Mr.  Stacey,  that  the  old  scoundrel 
rides  on  the  inside  of  the  coach  and  takes  all  of  the  dust  instead 
of  sitting  out  here  with  me  like  a  gentleman.  Perhaps  you,  be 
ing  a  stranger  and  unacquainted  with  our  customs,  may  think 
that  he  does  that  because  he  likes  it.  But  when  you  travel  over 
this  road  a  few  times,  -you  will  find  out  different.  If  you  will 
just  listen  to  me  half  a  minute,  I  will  tell  you  why  he  rides  in 
there." 

Harry  said  he  would  be  glad  to  know  why  it  was  so. 

"  Have  you  got  any  tobacco  ?"  asked  Jack. 

Harry  had  none.     He  never  had  learned  to  use  it. 

"Lucky  thing  for  you,  sir.  Hold  the  lines  while  I  get  some 
out  of  my  inside  pocket." 

Harry  took  the  lines  while  Jack  unbuttoned  his  coat  and 
filled  his  mouth  with  "  fine  cut." 

"  It  is  a  beastly  habit ;  but  you  can't  drive  stage  without  it, 
especially  along  these  narrow  grades  where  it  is  dangerous  to 
drink  whiskey.  It  is  company  for  you,  and  besides,  where  you 
can't  have  your  regular  corn-juice,  as  is  the  case  on  these  grades, 
it  helps  keep  your  nerves  steady." 

Harry  said  that  he  would  learn  if  he  ever  turned  stage-driver. 

"  I  would  recommend  you  to  do  it  in  that  case  only,  sir. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  141 

Well,  as  I  was  going  to  say,  old  Snakeweed  has  travelled  back 
and  forth  between  Sacramento  and  the  mines,  off  and  on,  ever 
since  I  have  been  driving  stage  over  these  mountains.  I  knew 
he  was  a  lawyer,  and  as  lawyers  usually  pretend  to  call  them 
selves  gentlemen,  I  took  him  to  be  a  gentleman  and  treated 
him  as  such.  Of  course,  when  he  rode  with  me  I  gave  him  a 
good  seat  and  conversed  with  him  freely  and  friendly  as  one 
gentleman  should  converse  with  another.  One  morning,  about 
a  year  ago  (I  was  driving  for  the  McSweenys  on  the  other 
road  then),  when,  just  before  I  started  off  from  Virginia  on  the 
down  trip,  who  should  walk  up  with  his  carpet-bag,  but 
that  old  thief  inside.  '  Good  morning,  Jack,'  says  he.  '  Good 
morning,  Mr.  Snakeweed,'  says  I,  as  polite  as  I  knew  how 
to  be.  'Got  a  place  for  a  gentleman  up  there?'  he  says. 
'Yes,'  says  I,  'I  always  have  a  place  for  a  gentleman 
up  here.  No  other  kind  ever  rides  on  the  box  with  Jack 
Gowdy  if  he  knows  it.'  'All  right'  says  he,  'that's  nice,'  and 
he  flung  his  carpet-bag  under  the  box  at  my  feet  and  mounted 
up.  There  happened  that  day,  as  it  has  to-day,  that  only  one 
other  gentleman  came  along  that  I  thought  just  the  thing  to  ride 
with  me.  You  know  how  it  is,  Mr.  Stacey,  when  a  gentleman 
is  driving  a  stage  over  a  long  road,  he  don't  want  to  be  forced 
for  a  whole  day  and  a  night  into  the  society  of  a  lot  of  common 
scrubs,  and  Yankees,  and  free  niggers,  and  preachers,  and  such 
trash,  simply  because  they  happen  to  have  money  enough  to 
buy  a  ticket  on  this  stage.  Gentlemen  naturally  want  to  be  to 
gether,  and  it  is  only  reasonable  to  suppose  that  all  sorts  of 
sneaks  feel  the  same  disposition  to  associate  with  each  other. 
It  is  no  more  pleasure  for  such  people  to  be  with  me  than  it  is 
for  me  to  be  with  them.  There  ain't  nothing  congenial  between 
us.  Well,  that  day,  I  had  put  the  people  inside  as  well  as  I 
could,  and  Old  Snakeweed  and  I  had  it  all  to  ourselves  on  the 
box.  I  noticed  from  the  time  we  started  out  of  Virginia 
that  he  was  awful  pleasant  and  kind  to  me.  He  did  not  seem 
to  know  how  to  say  enough  sweet  things.  He  asked  me  all 
sorts  of  questions  about  myself.  Where  I  came  from,  and  what 
brought  me  to  this  country.  Well,  I  told  him  just  as  I  have 
told  yo  i  to-day.  I  did  not  have  any  secret  to  keep.  My 
father  was  an  old  North  Carolina  gentleman  before  me  that 
lived  close  to  the  Virginia  line ;  and  I  am  as  good  a  gentleman 
as  ever  lived  on  top  of  the  earth  though  I  do  say  it  myself. 
But  old  Snakeweed  seemed  to  be  anxious  about  me.  He  liked 
me  so  well  that  he  was  sorry  to  see  me  driving  stage.  I  told 


142  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

him  that  that  was  not  a  business  to  be  ashamed  of;  that  any 
gentleman  might  be  glad  to  follow  it.  He  said,  yes,  he  was 
aware  of  it,  but  that  it  was  a  dangerous  business ;  that  there 
were  so  many  accidents.  Well,  I  could  not  deny  that,  for  if  it  is 
well  followed  up  it  can  scarcely  be  called  a  safe  calling.  So  I 
told  him  that  I  could  not  call  it  as  safe  a  business  as  being  a 
Cumberland  Presbyterian  preacher  in  Missouri.  Well,  that  was 
his  point,  and  he  could  not  see  how  a  young  man  of  my  talent 
and  appearance  could  willingly  follow  this  dangerous,  narrow- 
grade  road,  day  and  night  for  years,  and  take  the  chances  of  run 
ning  over  the  bank  each  time  I  made  a  trip.  '  Because  I  can't 
do  no  better,'  says  I.  '  If  I  should  give  up  stage-driving,  I 
would  starve  to  death  or  something  like  that.  I  would  be  a 
white-cheek  man  the  balance  of  my  days.'  '  No,  you  would 
not,'  says  he ;  *  why  look  at  these  splendid  mines  that  you  drive 
over  every  day  of  your  life,  teeming  with  untold  argentiferous 
wealth.'  I  remember  those  were  precisely  his  words.  '  It  is  a 
pity  to  see  a  young  man  neglecting  his  opportunities  when,  by 
investing  a  few  dollars  of  his  surplus  funds,  he  might  in  a  few 
•'  months  be  able  to  retire  upon  his  independent  income,  the  earn 
ings  of  his  mine,  and  quit  such  a  dangerous  occupation.'  I  was 
rather  pleased  with  the  idea,  for  I  thought  what  a  splendid  run 
I  'could  make  agin'  Jack  Skagg's  pharo  bank  with  plenty  of 
money  and  nothing  else  to  do.  'But,'  said  I,  'I  don't  know 
anything  about  such  things.  Long  as  I  have  driven  stage  over 
these  mountains,  I  don't  know  neither  silver  nor  gold  when  I 
see  them  unless  they  have  the  eagle-bird  of  America  stamped 
on  one  side.'  '  Precisely  so,'  said  he,  '  but  that  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  not  take  advantage  of  what  is  going  on  around 
you.  A  man  cannot  expect  to  know  everything.  No  man' 
knows  that.  You  must  place  confidence  in  somebody.  You 
must  trust  to  others  in  such  things  as  you  don't  know  yourself, 
and  then  you  are  all  right.  'I  don't  know  how  to  drive  stage,' 
says  he,  '  but  I  don't  stay  at  home  on  that  account  I  trust 
you.  That  is  confidence.  And  you  see  I  come  out  all  right.' 
'Yes,'  said  I,  '  that  sounds  well  enough.  It  suits  me  ;  but  who 
shall  I  trust  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  That  is  the  very  difficulty. 
'  I  never  know  of  any  investments  for  money  except  whiskey  and 
tobacco  and  such  like  necessary  things.'  '  Of  course  you  don't,' 
says  he,  '  because  that  is  not  your  calling.  You  are  a  stage- 
driver.  Finding  investments  for  coin  is  a  regular  profession. 
You  must  trust  to  somebody  else  in  such  matters.'  Then  he 
told  me  how  oflen  he  found  the  nicest  young  people  in  the  whole 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  143 

country  in  precisely  the  same  situation  that  I  was  in,  and  how 
often  he  had  come  to  their  assistance  with  his  advice  and  e^ipe- 
rience.  He  had  only  that  very  week  made  investments  for  his 
cook  and  for  his  coachman,  both  comparatively  poor  people,  so 
he  said,  that  would  in  less  than  a  year,  enable  them  to  travel  in 
Europe  as  ladies  and  gentlemen,  on  the  interest  of  their  money." 

"  '  How  was  that  ? '  said  I. 

"  '  Selling  mining  stocks,'  says  he.  '  I  happen  to  have  means 
of  knowing  which  mines  are  going  to  be  good  and  which  are 
going  to  be  bad  ;  and  so  just  out  of  natural  kindness,  and  a 
feeling  that  I  always  had  for  poor  people,  I  let  them  into  the 
secret,  and  now  they  are  in  such  circumstances  that  they  need 
not  cook  or  drive  carriage  for  another  day.' 

"  '  Have  they  quit  ? '  says  I. 

"  '  No,'  said  he,  *  they  have  kept  on.  But  they  only  do  it 
for  amusement ;  they  have  been  so  long  at  it  they  do  not  like 
to  quit  off  so  sudden.  The  force  of  habit  is  wonderful.  Now,' 
says  he,  'if  I  do  all  that  for  a  lot  of  menial  servants,  don't  it 
look  reasonable  that  I  would  do  as  much  for  a  gentleman.' 

"  'Well,'  says  I,  '  I  should  say  it  did.' 

"  Then  he  went  on  to  tell  me  how  he  had  made  these  peo 
ple's  fortunes.  'There  were  two  mines,'  so  he  said,  'in  Washoe, 
that  everybody  supposed  were  not  worth  two  second-hand  chews 
of  tobacco.  One  was  a  mine  called  the  '  Queen  of  Spades,' 
and  the  other  was  the  '  Slumgullion.' 

"  '  Now,'  says  old  Snakeweed,  '  you  ask  any  man  in  the  Terri 
tory,  except  myself,  about  them  mines,  and  they  will  tell  you 
that  they  are  two  "  dead  beats."  That  there  is  not  a  grain  of 
silver  ore  in  a  thousand  feet  of  either  of  them,  go  what  way  you 
will.  But  ask  me,  and  what  do  I  say  about  it  ?  Well,  I  say 
this,  that  they  are  the  very  mines  that  have  made  the  fortunes 
of  my  household  domestic  servants.  It  is  upon  the  proceeds 
of  them  two  mines  that  they,  within  six  months  from  to-day,  will 
be  travelling  in  Europe  like  gentlemen  and  ladies.  Why,'  says 
he,  '  Mr.  Gowdy,  if  you  will  take  my  word,  and  it  was  never 
broken  to  living  creature,  I  can  go  into  either  of  them  two 
mines  with  a  hammer  and  a  cold  chisel,  and  cut  out  enough 
pure  silver  in  one  day  to  make  me  a  rich  man.  It  is  there  in 
sight,  sir.  I  have  been  down  and  seen  it  myself  with  these 
very  eyes  since  I  was  on  this  trip.' 

"  I  began  to  take  a  great  interest  in  what  he  said  by  this  time. 
Especially  when  he  told  me  about  selling  the  stock  to  his  own 
cook.  Certainly  no  gentleman  that  ever  lived  would  sell  sil- 


144  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

ver  stock  to  his  domestic  servants  unless  the  stock  was  worth 
all  he  represented  it  to  be.  Well,  sir,  to  make  a  long  story 
short,  it  turned  out  by  a  rare  piece  of  good  luck,  a  mere  acci 
dent,  so  he  said,  that  he  had  fifty  shares  of  each  of  them  mines 
in  his  pocket  at  that  minute.  Well,  I  happened  to  have  a 
check  for  seven  hundred  dollars  in  my  pocket  on  Mills'  bank, 
v  and  so  the  trade  was  soon  made.  I  fancied  the  Queen  of 
Spades  the  best,  for  it  looked  a  little  like  going  against  pharo, 
where,  you  know,  there  is  always  some  show  for  your  money  if 
you  get  a  square  deal.  But  old  Snakeweed  said  the  mines  were 
side  by  side,  and  that  one  being  just  as  good  as  the  other  it 
would  be  a  pity  to  divide  them.  *  Never  take  two  bites  at  a 
cherry,'  says  he.  I  had  not  quite  enough  money  to  pay  for  all 
the  stock  ;  but  he  said  that  need  not  trouble  me  the  least  in  the 
world.  I  could  pay  him  the  odd  fifty  dollars  whenever  I  had 
it.  *  And  for  that  matter,'  says  he,  *  between  gentlemen  that 
way  it  don't  make  any  great  matter  if  you  never  do  pay  it.' 
But  I  told  him  no,  I  never  did  business  that  way,  and  that  the 
first  time  I  saw  him  to  speak  to  him,  he  might  expect  the  bal 
ance  of  the  coin." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Stacey,"  said  Jack,  looking  at  him  attentively  as 
if  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  discourse,  "  do  you  know  that  there 
was  not  an  indication  of  silver  ore  in  either  of  these  mines 
Do  you  know  what  is  more,"  he  continued,  still  looking  at 
Harry,  "  that  he  had  never  been  on  the  ground  where  he 'claimed 
his  lode  to  be,  in  the  course  of  his  sneaking,  thieving  life.  And 
do  you  know,  that  he  not  only  had  never  been  down  in  them 
mines  to  cut  pure  silver  with  a  cold  chisel,  but  that  there  had 
never  been  a  hole  dug  in  the  ground  within  a  mile  of  the  mines 
big  enough  to  hide  a  pup  possum  ! " 

"  Mr.  Stacey,"  said  Jack,  slowly,  seeing  that  Harry  still  did 
not  seem  to  understand  the  enormity  of  the  offence  of  Mr. 
/  Snakeweed,  "  there  were  no  such  mines  in  Washoe  Territory  as 
what  he  had  printed  on  them  certificates  of  stock.  The  Queen 
of  Spades  can't  be  found,  and  the  Slumgullion  can't  be  found. 
They  don't  exist." 

Harry  expressed  his  surprise  that  any  man  could  act  in  so 
wicked  a  manner,  thereby  robbing  Jack  of  his  money. 

"Oh,  as  for  the  money,  I  did  not  care  anything  about  that.  I 
don't  consider  that  I  lost  it." 

"  How  was  that?"  asked  Harry. 

"  Well,  the  money,  sir,  was  money  that  I  had  won  from  Jack 
Skagg's  pharo  game,  the  last  trip  down;  and,  as  I  was  on  my 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  145 

way  back  it  was  more  than  seven  to  one  that  I  would  have  left 
it  with  Jack  again.  So  you  see,  sir,  I  consider  that  Jack 
Skaggs  lost  the  money.  And  so  does  he  ;  for  when  I  told  him 
about  it  he  did  not  like  it  a  bit,  and  swore  vengeance  on  Snake- 
weed. 

"  When  I  got  into  Sacramento,  I  drove  up  to  Bill  Hunt's 
door.  Do  you  know  Bill  Hunt,  Mr.  Stacey  ?  " 

No,  Harry  did  not  know  him.  He  had  never  been  in  Sacra 
mento  until  that  morning. 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  know  him.  You  would  like  him,  and 
he  would  like  you,  I  know  from  your  look.  He  is  the  most 
elegant  gentleman  that  walks  on  the  top  of  the  earth  without 
exception.  He  keeps  the  French  Hotel,  and  it  is  the  finest 
hotel  in  the  world,  and  he  has  more  learning  than  any  man 
that  ever  I  saw,  except  General  Jackson,  and  they  say  he  is 
dead." 

Harry  expressed  a  strong  desire  to  see  and  make  the  ac 
quaintance  of  the  polished  and  erudite  hotel-keeper. 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  said  Jack.  "You  just 
ought  to  see  him  go  against  pharo  with  red  checks,  if  it  was 
only  for  once.  It  would  be  such  a  beautiful  sight,  you  would 
never  forget  it.  If  you  stop  at  his  house  when  you  go  back, 
and  it  is  the  only  decent  hotel  in  the  town,  don't  fail  to  tell  him 
that  Jack  Gowdy  sent  you.  That  is  all.  You  will  be  treated 
like  a  prince  from  that  minute." 

Harry  said  that  he  would  be  sure  to  call  and  make  the  ac 
quaintance  of  Bill  Hunt.  And  Jack  continued,  — 

"  As  I  said  before,  I  drove  up  to  Bill  Hunt's  door  with  old 
Snakey  still -on  the  box  at  my  side.  I  threw  the  lines  to  a  boy, 
and  got  down  and  went  in  to  get  my  supper.  I  thought  Bill 
looked  at  me  with  a  queer  sort  of  an  expression  that  was  not 
just  the  usual  way  he  looked  when  I  got  in  from  across  the 
mountains.  But  I  did  not  say  anything  just  then,  I  waited 
till  after  supper  to  speak  to  him.  Then  I  goes  up  to  the  bar, 
and  says  1,  '  Billy,'  for  that's  what  I  always  call  him,  we  are 
such  friends,  you  know,  '  Billy,  go  with  me  to  the  theatre  to 
night  ?  '  He  did  not  answer  the  question  at  first,  so  thinking 
he  did  not  hear  me,  I  repeated  the  question." 

•<  Billy —  Bill !     Will  you  go  to  the  theatre  to-night  ? ' 

Bill  looked  over  the  counter  at  me  then,  as  if  he  had  just 
seen  me  for  the  first  time. 

"  '  No,'  says  he,  « I  won't.' 

"  '  Why  won't  you  ? '  says  I. 


146  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

" '  Because  you  are  not  going,'  says  he. 

" f  Not  going,'  says  I.  '  Why  am  I  not  going  ?  Did  I  not  just 
ask  you  to  go  with  me  ?  Is  it  the  custom  for  one  gentleman  to 
invite  another  to  go  to  the  theatre  with  him  and  then  not  go  ? 
Where  were  you  fetched  up  ? ' 

"  '  It  don't  make  no  difference  where  I  was  fetched  up.' 

"  '  You  don't  go  to  no  theatre  to-night,'  says  Bill. 

"'Why?'  says  I. 

" '  Because  you  have'nt  got  no  money  to  go  with.  It  takes 
coin  to  get  into  theatres  in  this  country  ;  people  can't  afford 
to  keep  'em  open  for  nothing ;  a  theatre  is  not  like  a  hotel  where 
everybody  expects  to  come  and  eat  and  drink,  and  go  away 
without  leaving  a  red  cent.' 

"  It  went  all  through  me  like  a  shot  that  I  had  no  money  that 
night.  Old  Snakeweed  had  got  my  last  picayune,  coming 
down  for  the  Queen  of  Spades  stock." 

"  '  How  do  you  know  I  have  no  money?  says  I.' 

"  Bill  looked  at  me  hard  for  a  minute,  then  says  he,  '  Did  not 
that  tall,  respectable,  honest-looking  old  gentleman  ride  on  the 
box  all  the  way  over  with  you  ? ' 

"Says  I,  'Yes,  what  of  that?' 

"  *  Well,  that  is  "  Old  Snakeweed,"  the  San  Francisco  lawyer, 
and  he  never  was  in  company  with  anybody  over  half  an  hour 
in  his  life,  without  squeezing  him  as  dry  as  a  sponge ;  why,  he 
goes  through  'em  just  like  a  dose  of  salts.  Jack  Gowdy,  I'll 
bet  you  a  thousand  dollars  to  a  paper  of  "fine  cut,"  that  you 
haven't  got  a  red  cent,  and  we  will  turn  your  pockets  out  here 
on  the  counter  and  see.' 

"Well,  I  had  to  own  up,  for  it  was  true.  But  I  thought 
old  Bill  Hunt  would  die  of  laughing  when  I  told  him  about  it. 
He  rolled  all  round  the  room,  and  held  his  sides  saying  that' 
they  ached  so.  'Well,  says  I,  'I  don't  care,  it  was  Jack 
Skagg's  money  any  way.  Well,  Bill  took  me  to  the  theatre  that 
night,  Mr.  Stacey.  Bill  Hunt  is  the  smartest  man  in  the  world. 
Don't  you  think  so,  sir  ?  " 

Harry  admitted  that  Jack  had  made  out  a  strong  case  upon 
that  side  of  the  question. 

"But  Jack,  did  you  never  make  any  effort  to  obtain  justice?" 

"  Not  yet,  but  I  may  get  back  on  him  some  time." 

"By  a  lawsuit,  I  suppose,"  suggested  Harry. 

"  By  a  what  ?"  cried  Jack,  turning  and  regarding  his  passen 
ger  with  a  look  that  indicated  a  mixture  of  amazement  with  a 
strong  sense  of  the  ludicrous.  "By  a  lawsuit,"  he  continued  in 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  147 

the  midst  of  a  burst  of  boisterous  laughter;  "that  would  be  a 
good  joke." 

The  very  idea  of  his  having  a  lawsuit  seemed  to  Jack  so 
supremely  funny,  that  he  could  not  restrain  his  merriment  for 
some  time  ;  at  last  he  settled  down  again  aud  pulling  up  his 
lines,  he  cracked  his  whip  at  the  leaders  till  they  were  galloping 
along  handsomely,  when  he  resumed  his  answer. 

"  No,  Mr.  Stacey,  not  by  a  lawsuit ;  that  is  no  doubt  a  very 
nice  thing  for  a  San  Francisco  gentleman,  who  has  plenty  of 
coin  and  nothing  to  do  but  sit  back  in  his  office,  and  attend  to 
it  and  enjoy  himself;  but  a  Washoe  stage  driver  has  about  as 
much  business  with  a  lawsuit,  as  he  has  with  keeping  a  sausage 
factory  at  some  place  five  hundred  miles  away  from  his  route  ; 
and  it  would  get  along  about  as  well ;  that  is  not  my  idea  of  ob 
taining  justice  ;  I  have  very  strong  doubts,  Mr.  Stacey,  about 
ever  getting  even  with  the  old  scoundrel  in  this  world ;  in  the 
next,  I  do  not  feel  quite  so  uncertain ;  but  if  I  ever  get  a  square 
pull  at  him,  I  will  mighty  nearly  come  up  with  him  on  this  side 
of  Jordan  you  bet  your  life." 

"How?"    inquires  Harry. 

"  If  I  ever  should  meet  with  the  good  luck  to  have  him  go 
over  this  road  as  the  only  solitary  passenger  in  my  coach,  a 
thing  that  is  not  likely  to  happen,  though  it  is  on  the  cards ; " 
here  he  turned  to  Harry  to  show  how  in  earnest  he  was,  "  I'll 
throw  him  over  the  bank." 

"  And  kill  him,"   cries  the  astonished  passenger. 

Jack  renewed  his  tobacco  with  great  deliberation,  first 
throwing  away  the  old  quid. 

"It  is  a  thousand  feet  at  the  shallowest  part,  going  from 
Lake  Bigler  down;  he  will  be  mighty  apt  to  get  a  good  jolt, 
when  he  touches  ground  at  the  bottom  ;  yes,  sir,  if  I  can  get 
my  hands  on  the  old  scoundrel  when  there  is  nobody  about  he 
won't  send  any  more  cooks  travelling  in  Europe  on  their  income 
after  that.  I'll  do  it  as  a  Christian  duty.  I'll  just  drop  him  off  at 
the  steepest  place  on  the  Carson  grade ;  his  friends  will  know 
the  spot,  by  seeing  the  buzzards  circling  around  it." 

"  But  if  you  do  that,  Jack,  you  will  get  yourself  into  trouble, 
will  you  not  ?  " 

"  Trouble  !  "  cried  Jack,  with  a  contemptuous  sneer.  "  No 
I'll  get  right  into  ease  and  comfort.  I'll  be  like  a  blind  mustang 
in  a  clover-patch.  Bill  Hunt  has  a  standing  offer,  when  I  kill 
the  old  thief,  to  hide  me  in  his  house  gratis  for  a  year  and  a 


148  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

day,  and  board  me  on  the  best  his  table  affords.  Did  you 
ever  eat  in  Bill  Hunt's  house  ?  " 

"  No,  Jack,  I  never  have." 

"  Well,  then,  just  try  it  once,  sir,  and  see  if  it's  trouble ;  arid 
besides,  Jack  Skaggs  has  an  account  to  settle  with  old  Snakey, 
and  he  has  promised  to  let  me  play  red  checks  at  his  game  on 
credit,  as  long  as  I  am  hiding  away,  and  till  he  can  run  me  off 
into  Arizona,  or  some  decent  place  where  there  ain't  so  much 
prejudice  as  there  is  here.  I  won't  be  in  a  hurry  to  leave  ;  do 
you  think  I  will,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Harry,  "  I  do  not  think  you  will  find  a  place  more 
to  your  mind  than  your  friend  Mr.  Hunt's  house  upon  those 
terms." 

"  I  should  say  not,"  said  Jack. 

"  Have  you  ever  paid  Mr.  Snakeweed  the  balance  on  your 
shares,  Jack?" 

"  No,  for  he  has  never  asked  me  for  the  money ;  he  don't 
seem  to  remember  me  at  all  ;  he  comes  up  and  gets  inside  the 
coach  without  ever  appearing  to  recollect  anything  about  me. 

it  was  far  in  the  night  when  they  passed  down  the  Carson 
grade  ;  but  the  novelty  of  the  situation  kept  Harry  awake,  and 
the  two  still  conversed  upon  such  topics  as  came  uppermost. 
The  narrow  and  dangerous  grade  had  already  lost  a  good  part 
of  its  terrors  to  the  young  man's  mind  by  the  few  hours  of  habit 
in  facing  it.  They  had  wound  along  equally,  and  even  more 
fearful  precipices,  upon  the  banks  of  the  American  river  in  the 
early  part  of  their  journey. 

"If  it  was  day-light,"  said  Jack,  "from  where  we  are  now,  I 
could  show  you  the  Carson  river  and  the  valley.  Most  passen 
gers  think  the  scenery  on  this  part  of  the  road  very  fine ;  and 
1  often  stop  just  at  this  point,  if  I  have  any  women  with  me,  or 
any  real  gentlemen,  like  ourselves,  that  want  to  take  a  look  at 
it  for  a  few  minutes." 

Harry  was  very  sorry  that  it  was  not  day  light,  as  he  would 
enjoy  the  view  above  all  things. 

"  You  will  get  a  good  chance  as  you  come  back,  for  then  you 
will  pass  here  in  the  afternoon.  Just  at  the  point  where  we  are 
now  coming  to,  we  had  a  rough  time  last  Wednesday,  a  week 
ago,  with  some  Indians." 

" Indeed  ?  "  asked  Harry;  li  what  was  it  that  happened  ?  " 

Jack  told  him  about  an  ambush  that  had  been  laid  for  the 
coach,  by  the  savages,  and  the  effort  that  had  been  made  to 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  149 

throw  them  all  over  the  bank.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  it  was 
the  affair  which  we  have  described  in  a  former  chapter. 

Jack  went  on,  in  his  own  peculiar  way,  to  detail  the  particu 
lars  of  the  attempt  upon  their  lives,  as  it  has  already  been  told 
to  the  reader.  Harry  soon  learned  that  it  was  Mr  Graham  and 
his  family  who  had  so  narrowly  escaped  with  their  lives,  and  he 
listened  with  breathless  attention.  And  when  Jack  reached  the 
point  where  the  savage  had  risen  up  from  behind  the  log  to  fire 
at  Greathouse,  he  could  not  await  the  slow  conclusion  of  the 
story,  as  Jack,  with  great  gravity,  was  telling  it,  chewing  tobacco 
all  the  whlie,  but  burst  into  a  demand  to  be  informed  at  once 
if  they  had  reached  home  in  safety,  before  he  would  allow  Jack 
to  go  on  with  the  story. 

"  Reached  home  in  safety?  "  answered  Jack,  as  if  the  question 
was,  in  itself,  almost  too  intrinsically  absurd  to  be  worthy  of  a 
reply.  "  I  should  say  so ;  my  passengers  generally  come  through 
in  safety.  But  seeing  Harry  still  looking  anxiously  at  him,  he 
added,  "  Oh  yes,  they  are  all  at  the  hotel  in  Virginia  at  this 
minute,  as  safe  as  so  many  coons  in  a  gum  tree,  with  not  an  axe 
nor  a  dog  in  fifty  miles." 

Harry  was  satisfied,  and  Jack,  having  renewed  his  tobacco, 
went  on  with  the  story.  While  he  was  in  the  midst  of  the  dis 
cussion  they  reached  the  place  where  the  log  had  rested  against 
fhe  bank. 

"Just  here  we  would  have  gone  over,"  said  Jack,  "but  it  is  too 
dark  for  you  to  see  how  far  we  would  have  gone  down  before 
we  would  have  been  in  condition  to  have  been  picked  up.  " 

Harry  leaned  over,  and  peered  down  into  the  abyss  below, 
but  all  was  black  as  the  lowest  depths  of  Erebus,  and  he  could 
see  nothing. 

"We  did  not  go  over,"  said  Jack,  "and  I  am  not  sorry  for  it, 
for  I  did  not  want  to  go  a  bit.  There  was  an  Indian  went  over, 
and  I  think  he  must  like  it,  for  he  is  down  there  yet,  judging 
from  the  flock  of  buzzards  I  saw  gathering  down  there,  as  I 
came  up  last  trip  to — " 

"  Where  are  the  other  Indians  ?  "  asked  Harry. 

"They  cleared  out  directly  that  we  got  by,  for  they  knew  it 
would  not  be  safe  for  them  to  stay  any  longer  after  we  took  the 
word  into  Carson,  which  is  not  eight  miles  from  here,  down  the 
mountain.  They  did  not  even  stop  to  pick  up  the  fellow  that 
Bob  tossed  over  the  bank.  They  were  in  too  much  of  a  hurry 
for  that.  Do  you  know,  sir,  that  that  yellow-haired  gall  came 


150  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

out  like  a  brick  ?  I  never  saw  nor  heard  anything  like  it  in  all 
my  experience." 

"What  did  she  do?"  asked  Harry. 

Then  Jack  explained  to  him  how  she  had  seen  the  whole  af 
fair,  and  from  fear  of  alarming  her  mother,  had  sat  and  never 
given  a  sign  or  token  of  the  danger. 

"That  is  just  like  Helen,"  cried  Harry,  in  a  burst  of  enthu 
siasm. 

"Then  you  know  the  young  woman ? "  suggested  Jack. 

"Yes,  I  know  the  whole  family,  and  have  been  acquainted 
with  them  for  several  months." 

Then  you  know  as  pretty  a  piece  of  female  flesh  as  ever 
trod  shoe-leather,"  said  Jack,  in  delight  at  seeing  that  his  new 
friend  was  acquainted  with  the  paragon  of  female  excellence. 
That's  all  I  have  to  say.  Do  you  know  her  well,  sir  ? 

Seeing  Harry  hesitate,  as  if  in  doubt  how  to  answer  this  ques 
tion,  Jack  continued, » — 

"Because,  if  you  do  you  are  dead  in  love  with  her,  and  I  will 
bet  more  on  it  than  I  would  on  four  aces,  if  I  was  surrounded 
with  friends,  and  had  a  loaded  six-shooter,  ready  capped  and 
cocked,  in  my  hand  to  back  'em." 

Had  it  been  daylight,  poor  Harry's  secret  would  have  been 
lost  then  and  there.  But  a  friendly  darkness  curtained  his 
blushes,  and  Jack,  not  knowing  how  central  had  been  his  aim, 
continued, — 

"  She  is  the  finest  girl  that  ever  wore  garters,  and  I  am  so 
dead  in  love  with  her  that  I  am  nearly  stone  blind  after  four 
o'clock.  But  understand  me,"  he  said,  "I  don't  mean  by  that 
that  I  am  after  the  lady,  or  even  dream  that  she  thinks  or  could 
think  of  poor  Jack.  She  is  too  good  for  a  drunken,  gambling, 
ignorant  stage-driver,  as  I  call  myself,  knowing  it  to  be  true, 
but  as  I  would  take  the  top  of  any  man's  head  clean  off  that 
would  say  it  about  me,  nevertheless.  But  she  is  not  for  my  sort 
of  men.  Not  that  I  am  not  good  enough  a  gentleman  to  be 
her  equal,  or  anybody  else's  equal,  for  that  matter,  for  I  am  as 
much  of  a  gentleman,  and  know  as  well  how  to  conduct  myself 
like  a  gentleman,  when  I  want  to  try,  as  any  man,  white  or  black, 
that  walks  on  the  top  of  the  earth.  But,"  and  he  continued 
with  his  explanation  to  Harry,  "  she  is  not  for  my  sort,  and  I 
know  it.  No  woman  is  for  me,  and  especially  such  a  beautiful 
lady  as  that.  I  only  say  this  to  you,  Mr.  Stacey,  not  because, 
ordinarily,  it  would  be  necessary,  but  because  I  happened  to 
mention  to  you  that  I  was  in  love  with  her,  which  I  am.  Habit- 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  151 

ually,  when  a  man,  no  matter  who  he  is,  says  that  he  is  in  love 
with  a  woman,  the  inference  follows  that  he  wishes,  and  perhaps 
expects  her  to  love  him  again  in  turn,  and  so,  to  put  that  quite 
back  where  it  belongs,  I  have  made  these  remarks.  I  love  her 
as  you  would  love  a  beautiful  queen,  or  somebody  like  that,  that 
was  clear  away  out  of  your  reach." 

Harry  told  him  that  he  understood  the  sentiment,  and  re 
spected  it. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Jack  with  a  tone  of  earnest  gratitude.  "  I 
am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness.  You  see,  sir,  I 
would  go  plump  into  hell  for  that  lady,  if  it  wrould  be  of  any 
benefit  to  her  in  the  world.  But  as  for  marrying  anybody,  even 
that  I  could  get  to  have  me,  I  would  not  do  it,  for  if  I  had  the 
most  beautiful  wife  in  the  world,  I  could  not  keep  her  six 
months." 

"  Oh,  "  cried  Harry,  "I  am  sure  you  could.  " 

"  No,  "  said  Jack,  persistently.  "  She  would  either  starve  to 
death,  or  I  would  bet  her  away  at  pharo.  She  would  go  some 
way.  I  would  lose  her,  for  I  lose  everything  I  have.  You  see, 
my  luck  is  so  bad.  You  don't  know  what  an  unlucky  man  I 
am,  sir ;  I  am  sure  you  don't." 

Harry  was  sorry  to  hear  that  Jack  was  so  unlucky,  and  hoped 
his  luck  would  change.  Jack  thanked  him. 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  had  to  talk  to  you  so  about  this  beautiful 
young  woman,  but  having  once  said  I  loved  her,  I  could  not  do 
less  than  explain  how,  and  to  say,  in  fact,  what  I  have  said." 

Harry  assured  him  that  he  fully  appreciated  the  delicacy  of 
the  motive  that  had  caused  both  the  declaration  and  the  expla 
nation  that  followed  it. 

"But  you, "  cried  Jack,  " are  different.  I  have  never  seen  a 
man  in  all  my  travels  over  these  mountains,  that  came  up  to  my 
idea  of  the  man  that  was  just  good  enough,  and  gentlemanly 
enough,  and  educated  enough,  to  be  a  husband  to  that  beautiful, 
golden -haired  lady,  as  just  you,  sir,  though  I  never  laid  eyes  on 
you  till  this  morning,  or  rather  yesterday  morning,  for  it  is  now 
past  midnight." 

Harry  protested  that  Jack  was  too  kind  towards  him. 

"No,  I  am  not,  su*;  not  a  whit.  I  mean  just  what  I  say,  and 
if  you  are  not  in  love  with  her,  just  take  Jack  Gowdy's  advice 
for  once  in  your  life,  and  go  and  fall  in  love  with  her  as  soon  as 
you  can,  and  marry  her,  for  she  is  the  queen  of  this  world ;  that 
she  is,  sir,  and  somebody  is  going  to  gobble  her  up,  like  a  plate 
of  hot  buckwheat  cakes  with  sugar-tree  molasses  on  them,  and 


152  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

that,  too,  within  a  year.  And  if  you  don't  look  out  it  will  be 
done  right  under  your  eyes,  before  you  know  it.  It  does  not 
make  much  difference  to  me,  sir,  in  the  long  run,  for  the  Lord 
only  knows  where  I  will  be  in  a  year  from  now.  Over  the  bank 
as  likely  as  not,  or,  may  be  worse,  broiling  in  a  green-wood  fire, 
with  a  hundred  Apaches  howling  and  dancing  round  me.  But 
such  a  woman  as  I  know  that  to  be,  is  not  picked  up  in  this 
sage-brush  country  every  day.  Now  you  just  take  Jack  Gow- 
dy's  word,  that  has  been  driving  stage  over  here  ever  since  the 
thing  commenced,  for  that,  will  you  ?  " 

Harry  could  not  dispute  the  justice  of  Jack's  observations  on 
this  point.  In  fact  he  said  he  was  sure  his  new  friend  was  right. 
"  But,"  continued  he,  "  I  have  told  you  what  I  am  doing  in  this 
country,  Jack.  I  have  told  you  about  the  mortgage  in  the  old 
home,  and  how  it  came  to  be  there.  Could  I  forget  what  I  owe 
to  my  father  and  my  mother,  and  marry  a  lady  whose  support 
will  draw  a  penny  from  the  sacred  fund  that  I  am  trying  to  col 
lect  together  to  pay  off  that  debt." 

Poor  Harry !  his  heart  was  so  full  of  the  matter  that  he  was 
ready  to  pour  it  all  out  before  the  stage-driver,  and  ask  his  sym 
pathy.  But  Jack  would  not  listen  to  that  as  a  serious  obstacle. 

"You  don't  know,"  he  cried,  "  what  a  country  this  is  for  making 
money  in.  And,  besides,  that  gal  will  never  be  a  drag  upon 
any  man.  She  will  help  him,  sir ;  she  will  comfort  him,  encour 
age  him,  and  lay  her  hand  to  the  work.  Oh,  sir,  she  is  no 
drone,  believe  me,  Mr.  Stacey."  Jack  thought  he  was  only  de 
fending  his  beauty  from  an  unjust  suspicion,  and  not  that  he  was 
talking  to  one  who  was  already  only  wanting  a  word  of  encour 
agement  to  declare  to  Helen  his  passion,  fierce  as  burning  words 
could  describe  it.  "I  do  assure  you,  Mr.  Stacey,  there  was  never 
so  beautiful,  so  sweet,  or  so  true  a  woman  as  that.  I  don't 
know,  of  course,  how  you  may  be  situated.  You  may  be  al 
ready  engaged,  or  committed  in  some  way,  to  somebody,  so 
that,  as  a  gentleman,  you  cannot  look  at  anybody  else.  But  if 
you  are  heart-free,  then  I  say  to  you,  here  is  your  chance,  and 
you  must  strike  quick,  for  women  are  not  plenty  in  this  country, 
and  such  a  one  as  that  is  not  going  to  be  left  on  the  old-maids' 
list  anywhere,  especially  in  Washoe." 

Here  they  halted  at  the  station  at  Carson,  to  change  horses 
and  take  breakfast.  At  the  table,  Mr.  Snakeweed  seemed 
to  avoid  Harry,  as  if  -not  wanting  to  be  recognized  at  that  time. 
The  young  man  suspected  that  it  was  his  long  ride  with  Jack 
Gowdy  that  had  rendered  the  lawyer  uneasy  as  to  its  result,  and 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  153 

he  consequently  did  not  want  to  resume  the  acquaintance  at 
that  moment.  It  was  towards  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  when 
they  drove  up  to  the  door  of  the  American  Eagle  hotel,  and 
Harry,  bidding  Jack  good  morning,  entered  the  house  to  obtain 
rest  and  refreshment. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MR.    NAPOLEON    B.  SPELTER. 

HARRY  presented  himself  at  the  office  of  his  client,  Mr. 
Graham,  directly  that  he  had  removed  the  dust  from  his  travel - 
soiled  clothes,  and  put  himself  in  presentable  condition. 

"  I  will  not  call  upon  him  at  his  apartments,"  he  thought, 
"  at  least  not  without  an  express  invitation  from  him  to  that 
effect.  I  cannot  take  advantage  of  my  professional  employ 
ment  to  pay  my  suit  to  his  daughter." 

Mr.  Graham  seized  him  warmly  by  the  hand  and  greeted  him 
cordially.  His  reception  ought  to  have  put  him  at  ease  with 
respect  to  that  gentleman's  notions.  He  could  not  have  been 
received  more  cordially  had  he  already  been  the  son  of  Helen's 
father. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  ladies  at  No.  16  ?"  was  almost  his  first 
question. 

"No." 

"  Why  did  you  not  look  in  upon  them,  if  only  for  a  mo 
ment  ?  You  come  directly  from  their  friends  at  the  Bay,  and 
must  have  oceans  of  news  that  would  please  them  ;  and, 
besides,  you  are  such  a  favorite  with  my  wife  that  I  arn  sure 
you  would  have  been  most  welcome  under  any  circumstances." 

Harry  had  felt,  so  he  said,  that  the  business  upon  which  he 
had  come  to  the  Territory  required  his  first  attention,  and  until 
that  was  put  in  process  of  being  attended  to,  he  could  think 
of  nothing  else. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  zeal  in  my  service," 
said  Mr.  Graham,  "  and  will  not  forget  it.  Then  we  will  talk 
about  the  suit  of  the  Bosh  Company  versus  Graham,  and  when 


154  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

that  is  all  disposed  of,  I  am  sure  you  will  not  forget  that  you 
have  friends  in  my  apartments  whom  you  are  not  to  slight." 

So  they  commenced  at  once  to  discuss  the  lawsuit.  Harry 
asked  the  history  of  the  mine  from  the  moment  it  had  been 
suspected  that  Mount  Davidson  concealed  a  silver  lode  down 
to  the  day  he  stood  in  Mr.  Graham's  office.  This  history  he 
obtained  truthfully  from  Mr.  Graham.  When  he  was  in  doubt, 
he  questioned  and  cross-questioned  his  client  upon  the  most 
minute  particulars. 

The  land  being  the  land  of  the  United  States,  and  all  miners 
holding  possession  by  mere  tacit  consent  of  the  Government, 
but  which  consent,  till  revoked,  was  recognized  by  the  courts  as 
conferring  a  valid  title,  it  followed  that  the  first  discoverer  and 
possessor  of  any  part  of  it,  if  he  had  not,  in  any  manner,  vol 
untarily  abandoned  his  right,  was,  in  law,  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  the  owner. 

No  one  had  a  better  title  than  he,  except  the  United  States 
Government,  and  the  United  States  Government  had  established 
a  policy,  true,  not  by  positive  legislation,  but  by  abstention 
from  it,  of  non-interference,  leaving  the  mines  virtually  to  the 
first  occupant. 

The  whole  title,  therefore,  rested,  not  upon  paper  or  in 
matter  of  record,  but  upon  questions  of  fact  depending  for 
their  establishment  upon  the  recollections,  or  the  honesty  of 
witnesses. 

Harry  was  amazed  when  he  learned  upon  what  a  slendei 
thread  the  fortune  of  his  friend  and  client  was  suspended. 

After  several  hours  spent  in  carefully  examining  the  facts  of 
the  early  history  of  the  mine,  and  the  connection  of  Mr.  Gra 
ham  with  it,  he  arrived  at  the  opinion  that  his  title  was  as  good 
as  any  such  title  could  be. 

"But,"  said  he,  "the  goodness  of  any  title  in  this  Territory 
must  depend  largely,  almost  entirely,  upon  the  integrity  of 
your  judicial  tribunals,  the  high  and  pure  character  of  the  bar 
from  whence  the  judges  must  be  chosen,  and,  lastly,  the  power 
of  public  opinion  bearing  directly  upon  these  important  sub 
jects.  I  take  it  for  granted,  Mr.  Graham,  that  you  have  confi 
dence  in  your  courts,  that  they  are  above  and  beyond  being  in 
fluenced  by  any  sort  of  improper  motives." 

Mr.  Graham  was  really  unable  to  answer  that  question.  He 
had  heard  hints  thrown  out  that  all  was  not  quite  as  it  should 
be  in  that  direction.  But  he  had  never  been  assailed  in  his 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  155 

rights  before,  and  had  not,  he  confessed,  given  the  matter  so 
much  thought  as  perhaps  he  ought  to  have  done." 

"  Possibly,  Mr.  Graham,  the  fact  of  your  ill  success  in 
searching  for  the  silver  vein  hitherto  has  kept  you  free  from 
attack.  You  may  not  have  been  deemed  worth  fighting." 

"  That  is  no  doubt  the  truth,  Mr.  Stacey.  I  see  it  plainly 
enough,  now,  but  I  had  never  looked  on  it  in  that  light  before  ; 
indeed,  sir,  I  have  been  too  much  occupied  with  my  financial 
troubles  to  inquire  upon  what  tenure  I  held  my  mine.  I  took 
it  for  gran  ted  that  the  justice  of  my  title  was  in  itself  enough 
to  protect  me." 

"So  it  ought  to  be,  Mr.  Graham,  and  so  I  trust  it  will  prove 
to  be.  We  must  not  be  alarmed  at  evils  which  may  have  no 
existence  outside  of  our  own  frightened  brains.  But  at  the 
same  time  it  is  well  enough  to  look  at  this  case  in  its  worst 
light,  hoping  always  for  the  best.  Let  us  therefore  see  how  the 
case  stands. 

"  The  Government  of  the  United  States  is  seized,  as  we 
lawyers  say,  which  means  that  it  is  the  owner,  of  a  vast  tract  of 
land,  in  fact,  the  entire  unsold  domain  of  the  country.  But  its 
ownership  is  not  like  the  ownership  of  a  sovereign.  It  is  such 
an  ownership  as  individuals  can  have  of  land,  while  the  sover 
eign  authority  lies  with  the  States.  This  land  the  goverment 
will  not  sell,  for  the  reason  that  it  contains  minerals.  But  it 
permits  its  citizens  to  run  over  the  land  at  pleasure,  without  let 
or  hindrance,  to  work  its  mines  and  to  appropriate  the  proceeds 
to  their  own  use.  And  in  doing  so,  citizens  are  permitted  to 
regulate  their  temporary  possessions  by  such  local  customs  01 
State  laws  as  they  may  choose  to  adopt. 

"  But  this  gives  no  title  to  the  land  except  a  possession  by 
sufferance,  unaccompanied  by  any  deed  or  patent,  or  written 
authority  whatever.  The  State  or  Territorial  courts  finding  in 
dividuals  in  possession  of  government  land,  treat  that  posses 
sion  as  a  rightful  one  against  all  save  the  Government  itself, 
which  Government  holding  off  its  hands,  it  follows  that  the 
first  occupant  has  a  right  to  remain  in  possession,  and  to  invoke 
the  processes  of  the  law  courts  to  maintain  that  possession 
when  assailed  by  any  after-comer.  But  since  the  fact  of  his 
original  coming  into  possession  was  an  act  performed  without 
any  record  or  solemnity,  consisting  of  simply  walking  upon 
the  land  and  commencing  to  work  it,  an  act  that  can  be  done 
as  well  in  the  night  as  by  day,  as  easily  in  private  and  alone  as 
in  the  company  of  a  thousand  witnesses,  and  often  is  so  done, 


156  ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE. 

it  follows  that  when  his  title  is  attacked  by  one  claiming  to  be 
a  prior  possessor,  his  success  in  maintaining  his  rights  depends 
absolutely  upon  what  he  can  prove  in  court  by  the  mouths 
of  witnesses,  and  upon  the  purity  of  the  court  and  jury  before 
whom  the  case  is  tried,  in  judging  of  the  testimony. 

"So,  Mr.  Graham,  in  the  end  the  whole  matter  comes  back 
to  the  point  from  whence  "we  started.  If  your  courts  are  pure, 
and  your  bar  an  association  of  high-minded  and  honorable 
gentlemen,  as  they  ought  to  be,  and  as  they  are  in  other 
countries,  then  your  title  is  a  perfect  one  ;  if,  on  the  contrary, 
the  bar  has  lost  its  moral  standing  and  become  a  gang  of  plun 
derers,  aided  by  a  corrupt  judiciary  chosen  from  its  midst,  then 
are  your  rights  in  extreme  peril.  For  the  announcement  that 
you  have  discovered  the  valuable  vein  for  which  you  are  known 
to  be  in  search,  will  be  the  signal  for  an  onslaught  upon  you 
along  the  whole  line  that  will  require  all  of  your  energy  and  re 
sources  to  resist." 

"I  fully  agree  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Graham,  "now  that  all 
has  been  explained  to  me.  Really,  I  have  never  allowed  the 
thought  of  my  title  to  give  me  a  moment's  trouble.  I  have  had 
matters  of  more  immediate  urgency  weighing  heavily  upon  me 
all  of  this  time,  and  could  not  think  of  it.  But  we  have  this 
satisfaction,  at  least,  Mr.  Stacey,  if  we  have  no  other.  There 
is  no  evil  without  some  good  coming  from  it.  We  are  in  no 
immediate  danger,  for  the  prospects  of  our  finding  the  vein  ap 
pear  even  more  distant  than  before.  My  troubles,  like  all 
others,  are  not  without  their  corresponding  advantages,"  he 
continued,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  for  they  do  keep  the  hungry  vul 
tures  from  settling  down  upon  me." 

"True,"  said  Harry,  "and  the  respite  which  we  shall  obtain 
while  you  seek  the  precious  metal  must  be  used  to  prepare  for 
the  attack  which  has  already  been  commenced,  and  which  we 
know  will  be  made  more  active  and  deadly  as  soon  as  that  for 
tunate  event  shall  be  announced.  Witnesses  must  be  looked 
up  and  examined.  Their  testimony  must  be  taken  down  in 
writing,  so  that  they  may  not  be  tampered  with  afterwards  by 
the  opposite  side.  We  must  have  surveys  made  of  the  whole 
claim  and  familiarize  ourselves  with  the  subject.  That  is  about 
all  that  can  be  done  for  a  just  cause  before  the  trial.  What 
may  be  done  for  an  unjust  one  I  can  imagine  better  than  I 
wish  to  perform." 

Mr.  Graham  thanked  the  young  counsellor  for  the  evident 
interest  he  was  taking  in  his  affairs  and  they  separated. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE,  157 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  Harry  reached  the 
American  Eagle  Hotel,  and  the  gong  had  already  spread  the 
notice  of  dinner  through  the  house.  The  boarders  and  guests, 
filled  with  alarm  at  the  impending  peril  of  being  five  seconds 
too  late  in  their  places,  were  rushing  in  hungry  flocks  along  the 
narrow  halls  or  pouring  with  fierce  appetites  into  the  hot  and 
steaming  dining-room.  As  he  passed  in,  he  felt  his  arm  grasped 
by  some  one  going  in  the  same  direction.  It  proved  to  be  the 
friendly  hand  of  Mr.  Melchisedec  Snakeweed. 

"  Come  along,"  said  that  gentleman  with  all  the  warmth  of  a 
friend  who  unexpectedly  meets  another  after  a  long  absence ; 
"  come  along  with  me  and  we  will  dine  at  the  table  together.  I 
want  to  talk  with  you." 

The  two  gentlemen  elbowed  their  way  to  places  at  the  table 
side  by  side,  as  well  as  they  could,  though,  as  was  to  have  been 
expected,  not  without  the  usual  accidents  incidental  to  so  des 
perate  a  feat  as  that  of  obtaining  a  seat  at  the  table  of  a  well- 
lilled  American  hotel.  The  crowd  of  boarders  was  great  and 
hungry  and  hurried.  The  waiters  were  skilful  and  zealous,  for 
the  hotel  was  new  and  everybody  was  upon  their  good  behavior. 
These  usually  reckless  and  eccentric  dining-room  light-infantry 
men  rushed  back  and  forth,  in  the  true  American  style  that  has 
made  our  hotels  famous  the  world  over,  from  the  kitchen  to  the 
table  through  and  amongst  the  crowd  of  still-arriving  guests,  bear 
ing  the  most  incredible  loads  of  food  both  in  quantity  and  variety. 
Notwithstanding  these  vast  burdens,  they  marched  and  counter- 
inarched,  advanced  or  retreated  as  occasion  required  of  them, 
often  with  skill  and  always  with  spirit  and  elan,  with  vast  piles 
of  soup  plates,  some  empty,  some  filled,  with  plates  of  meat, 
with  plates  of  squash,  with  plates  of  green  corn,  and  hash,  and 
potatoes,  and  cucumbers,  and  tomatoes,  and  beans,  and  succo 
tash,  laid  first  upon  the  yielding  and  unsubstantial  foundation 
of  their  own  arms,  but  built  up  higher  and  higher  till  the  mon 
strous  structure  became  strengthened  and  solidified  by  the  very 
accumulation  of  material,  towering  far  above  their  own  heads, 
they  plunged  and  charged  through  the  famished  crowd  with  as 
much  care  as  the  exigencies  of  the  important  occasion  would 
permit.  In  solid  column,  first  they  formed  at  the  kitchen  door, 
then  they  moved  down  upon  the  table,  carrying  all  before  them, 
then  they  filed  off  into  detached  squads  and  platoons,  and 
plunged  away  again  in  the  direction  of  side-tables.  In  this 
form  of  mano2uvre  they  were  equally  powerful.  Then  they  be 
came  gradually  more  disorganized  and  broken  up  until  individ- 


158  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

ual  waiters,  armed  "cap-a-pie"  with  every  conceivable  form  of 
edible  were  seen  skirmishing  with  desperate  valor  all  about  the 
floor,  and  from  table  to  table,  leading  forlorn  hopes  in  the  very 
teeth  of  the  enemy,  pouring  out  their  fire  at  point  blank  range, 
and  delivering  the  soup  plates  to  the  hungry  guests,  always  with 
some  soup  left  in  them,  often  with  as  much  as  half  the  quan 
tity  with  which  they  embarked  on  the  perilous  expedition.  To 
encounter  one  of  these  knights  of  the  napkin  as  he  rushed 
into  the  fray,  was  to  be  inevitably  and  ignominiously  over 
thrown.  It  was  even  more  dangerous  than  being  run  down  by 
the  solid  charge  of  the  division  in  force.  But  our  two  gentlemen 
dodged  all  of  these  dangers  with  great  skill  and  with  no  little  suc 
cess.  Harry  was  flanked  by  a  skirmishing  party  of  soup-carriers, 
and  received  two  plates  of  that  unctuous  compound  upon  the 
back  of  his  coat,  greatly  to  the  amusement  of  Mr.  Snakeweed ; 
but  when  that  gentleman  drew  forth  his  handkerchief  from  the 
side-pocket  of  his  coat  to  wipe  his  perspiring  forehead,  after  the 
successful  march,  and  pulled  out  with  it,  to  the  amusement  of 
a  dozen  people  opposite,  a  baked  tomato  and  a  full  plate  of 
squash  that  had  been  fired  into  him  in  a  well-directed  volley, 
while  crossing  the  room,  he  ceased  laughing  at  Harry's  mishap, 
and  delivered  a  homily  upon  the  awkwardness  of  waiters  in 
America.  But  his  anger  soon  gave  way  before  the  demands  of 
his  appetite,  and  the  two  gentlemen  issued  such  orders  as  in  a 
short  time  placed  them  in  the  midst  of  a  formidable  collection 
of  the  varied  food  that  only  a  moment  before  had  seemed  so 
dangerous  in  its  eccentric  and  ungoverned  course  about  the 
room. 

"Where  have  you  been  for  this  age,"  at  last  demanded  Mr. 
Snakeweed  of  Harry. 

The  young  man  told  him  that  he  had,  since  their  arrival  that 
day,  been  out  attending  to  some  business  that  had  required  im 
mediate  action,  and  that  it  had  occupied  the  entire  afternoon". 

"I  have  been  searching  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Snakeweed,  "ever 
since  we  arrived,  but  in  vain.  I  wanted  to  show  you  about  the 
town,  especially  as  you  are  of  the  profession  and  a  stranger.  I 
wished  to  introduce  you  to  several  members  of  the  bar  and  also 
to  two  of  the  judges." 

Harry  thanked  him  kindly  for  the  interest  he  was  evincing  in 
one  so  wholly  unknown  to  him. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Snakeweed;  "yon  are  a  young  lawyer, 
and  that  alone  gives  you  a  claim  upon  us  veterans  that  never 
can  be  dishonored  or  repudiated.  .1  have  already  seen  several 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  159 

of  the  first  lawyers,  and  especially  the  great  leader  of  the 
Washoe  bar,  Mr.  Napoleon  B.  Spelter,  and  every  thing  has 
been  arranged  for  a  fitting  reception  to  be  given  to  you,  sir. 
You  are  to  be  welcomed  with  a  grand  banquet  to-morrow  night 
at  the  Washoe  House,  and  it  is  my  proud  and  pleasing  duty  to 
extend  the  invitation  to  you." 

Harry  thanked  Mr.  Snakeweed  again  for  his  kindness. 

"Do  you  know  Napoleon  B.  Spelter?"  asked  Mr.  Snake- 
weed, —  "Mr.  Napoleon  Bonaparte  Spelter,  the  eminent  leader 
of  the  Washoe  bar,  to  give  that  extraordinary  man  his  full  name 
and  position." 

Harry  did  not  know  that  gentleman,  nor,  indeed,  had  he  ever 
heard  his  name  mentioned  until  that  moment. 

"You  shall  know  him,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Snakeweed,  enthusi 
astically. 

It  is  probable  that  nowhere  in  the  world  have  the  judicial 
tribunals  of  a  new  colony  been  subjected  to  such  temptations 
as  the  courts  of  Washoe  during  the  first  five  years  of  the  set 
tlement  of  that  Territory.  It  is,  perhaps,  not  more  than  an 
ordinary  proof  of  the  admitted  natural  depravity  of  man,  that 
they  with  a  very  few  exceptions,  as  rare  as  they  were  honorable,  ; 
yielded  to  the  pressure  that  was  brought  to  bear  upon  them. 
The  population  and  organization  of  the  Territory  was  directly 
caused  by  the  discovery  of  the  Comstock  lode  of  silver  ore. 
This  marvelous  deposit  of  precious  metal,  situated  within  an 
area  of  five  miles  in  length  by  one  mile  in  width,  cutting  through 
the  sides  of  Mount  Davidson  called  into  existence  within  the 
period  of  three  years,  a  property  estimated  at  the  time  at  one 
hundred  and  fifty  millions  of  dollars  in  value.  This  vast  store 
of  treasure  was  by  the  bounty  of  the  Government  distributed,  / 
or  with  its  permission  seized  and  divided  amongst  the  first  few  * 
hundred  who  arrived  upon  the  spot  after  the  discovery.  But  the 
title  in  its  commencement,  was  like  the  title  to  goods  derelict 
possession  was  its  best  and  only  evidence,  and  a  strong  hand 
its  surest  protection.  A  man  might  have  successfully  ap 
propriated  a  portion  of  the  mines,  valued  at  untold  millions, 
yet  his  title  rested  alone  in  the  memory  or  the  virtue  of -wit 
nesses.  There  could  be  no  record  proof  of  its  validity.  As 
may  readily  be  imagined,  when  the  courts  were  established, 
every  title  in  the  Territory -was  obliged  to  submit  its  justice  to 
the  decision  of  these  tribunals. 

At  the  time  of  the  organization  of  the  Territorial  Govern 
ment  the  war  for  the  preservation  of  the  Union,  which  for  so 
many  years,  racked  and  scourged  the  land,  had  already  com 
menced.  The  government  at  Washington  was  fully  occupied 


160  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

with  the  struggle  for  national  existence.  It  was  only  natural, 
therefore,  that  the  wants  of  a  small  and  remote  dependency  like 
Washoe,  with  its  twenty  thousand  souls  should  be  lost  sight  of, 
at  least  for  a  time.  Courts  were  created  for  the  Territory, 
but  the  salaries  of  the  judges  were  fixed  at  the  insignificant  sum 
of  fifteen  hundred  dollars  per  annum,  paid  out  of  the  national 
treasury  in  legal  notes  worth  at  times  only  one  half  their  nomi 
nal  value.  These  judges  were  to  reside  in  a  province  where 
the  cost  of  living  was  at  the  time  absolutely  enormous.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  the  entire  annual  salary  allowed  by 
the  government  to  a  Washoe  judge  would  not  at  the  place  of 
his  required  residence  have  provided  him  with  the  bare  necessa 
ries  of  life  for  a  single  month  ;  and  it  was  a  matter  of  public  noto 
riety  that  some  of  them  lived  in  a  style  requiring  an  outlay  of 
at  least  ten  times  as  much  as  the  compensation  allowed  them 
by  Congress.  Yet  these  functionaries  were  called  upon 
each  day  to  pass  upon  titles  to  property  worth  millions  of  dol 
lars.  Indeed,  it  is  probable  that  the  list  of  cases  pending  in 
any  one  of  the  courts  would  have  footed  up  to  a  sum  of  value 
great  enough  to  cover  the  entire  aggregate  wealth  of  more  than 
one  important  American  city,  and  perhaps  of  a  State  in  the 
Federal  Union.  The  natural  consequence  of  all  this  soon  exhib 
ited  itself  too  plainly  to  be  mistaken.  First,  it  began  to  be  under 
stood  that  certain  lawyers  were  more  successful  in  this  or  that 
court  than  others.  These  must,  therefore,  be  retained  if  possi 
ble  in  all  cases;  but  this  was  not  all.  These  men  soon  became 
known  as  the  "brokers,"  so  they  were  called,  of  the  judges  to 
whom  they  were  attached.  But  this  was  soon  improved  upon. 
A  judge  with  but  one  broker  could  of  course  only  sell  himself 
•J  to  one  side,  thus  shutting  himself  out  from  the  rich  and  fertile 
fields  of  competition  and  double  bribery.  In  no  long  time, 
therefore,  others  were  pointed  out  as  having  equal  facilities  for 
approaching  the  open  ear  and  pressing  the  extended  palm  of 
justice.  But  it  was  soon  ascertained  that  even  judges  could 
not  always  control  the  final  determinations  of  courts  ;  that 
•  juries  and  witnesses  must  be  brought  under  proper  influences, 
and  that  to  do  this,  sheriffs  and  sheriffs  officers  and  clerks,  and 
prothonotaries  had  each  a  certain  influence  worth  securing. 
So  almost  before  Washoe  was  known  to  exist,  beyond  the  range 
of  lofty  mountains  that  shut  it  out,  like  the  valley  of  Rasselas, 
from  the  great  world,  it  had  already  made  such  progress  in  a 
certain  doubtful  civilization  as  to  number,  amongst  its  trades 
and  callings  that  of  professional  jurymen  and  witnesses  who 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  161 

made  a  regular  business  of  testifying  in  any  case  upon  the 
calendar,  upon  any  side  of  any  issue  that  might  possibly  come 
up  for  adjudication.  These  men,  it  was  said,  were  organized  into 
a  society,  and  had  their  places,  like  cab-drivers,  where  one 
could  always  be  found ;  the  first  one  in  order  being  entitled 
to  the  first  employment  that  came  to  the  stand.  That  such  a 
state  of  things  could  long  exist,  the  most  simple  mind  would 
know  to  be  impossible. 

While  the  rich  mining  company,  aided  by  its  talented  and 
unscrupulous  lawyer,  could,  by  slipping  a  reasonable  amount 
of  the  mines'  profits,  or  of  the  sum  raised  by  calls  from  the 
shareholders,  into  the  -hand  of  the  judge's  friend,  purchase 
peace  and  temporary  security ;  all  things  went  on,  if  not  well, 
at  least  satisfactorily,  but  when  it  became  known  that  the  judge 
had  two,  had  four,  had  ten,  and  at  last  a  score  of  brokers,  all, 
not  only  waiting,  but  actually  importuning  the  suitors  on  all 
sides  for  subsidies,  for  to  each  mine  there  were  a  dozen  con 
flicting  claims ;  it  became  apparent  that  there  could  be  no  end 
to  the  matter  ;  that  the  successful  corruptionist  of  to-day  was 
the  baffled  villain  of  to-morrow :  that  the  fund  of  iniquity, 
poured  out  to  its  last  drop,  to  accomplish  a  desired  end,  must 
be  immediately  replenished  to  meet  and  supply  a  more  raven 
ous  call.  When  these  facts  became  evident,  not  the  purity,  but 
the  selfishness  of  the  society  stood  aghast,  and  for  a  time, 
almost  resembled  virtue.  Public  meetings  were  called,  and  prom 
inent  judges  and  well  known  lawyers  were  called  before  them  to 
confront  each  other.  It  is  enough  to  say  to  the  man  who  loves  his 
country,  who  hopes  to  see  the  great  problem  of  man's  capacity 
for  self  government  demonstrated  in  our  own  favored  land,  that 
the  sickening  spectacle  was  there  seen  for  the  first,  and  let  us 
hope,  for  the  last  time,  of  a  judge  of  the  highest  tribunal  in 
the  province,  together  with  a  lawyer  of  known  talent,  and  of 
marked  and  distinguished  success  as  a  practitioner  in  the  Terri 
torial  Courts,  standing  up  in  the  midst  of  an  assemblage  of 
the  people,  engaged  in  bandying  back  and  forth,  charges  and 
insinuations  of  corruption  and  bribery,  and  subornation,  while 
a  vast  crowd  of  discomfited  suitors  and  baffled  lawyers,  men 
who  had  tried  vainly  to  gain  their  causes,  by  outbidding  their 
antagonists  at  the  monstrous  sale  of  justice  by  public  outcry, 
who  had  failed  to  fill  the  ravenous  maw  of  corruption  which 
their  own  avarice  and  greed  had  created  and  thrown  open, 
stood  howling  furiously  at  the  feet  of  the  filth-Hinging  pair. 

Oh !  my  countrymen,  descendants  of  the  brave  hearts ;  the 


162  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

pure  and  noble  souls  who  grappled  with  savage  men,  and 
more  savage  beasts,  who  faced  the  jaws  of  death  from  hunger 
and  cold  and  grim  want  to  plant  upon  these  shores  the  tree  of 
human  rights  and  human  liberty,  and  who  so  generously 
watered  it  with  their  blood ;  let  an  unknown  and  unskilled 
writer  warn  you  of  the  danger  that  threatens  to  undo  the  glori 
ous  work,  to  poison  the  noble  tree  at  its  roots,  and  to  wither 
it  in  its  branches  and  leaves.  * 

Turn  each  of  you,  citizens  of  our  great  Republic,  and  ask 
yourselves  the  question.  Have  I  aided  in  the  impure  and 
unholy  work  of  ingratitude  to  the  past  and  treason  to  the 
future  ?  If  I  have  not  actually  urged  on,  and  participated  in 
the  base  profits  of  official  corruption ;  have  I  in  any  manner 
lent  my  countenance  to  it  afterwards  by  taking  by  the  hand 
and  welcoming  the  perjured  wretch  ?  How  many  of  you  have 
boldly  turned  your  backs  upon  judges  who  have  dragged  the 
judicial  ermine  through  the  gutter  of  corruption?  How  many 
of  you  have  refused  the  proffered  hand  of  the  fraudulent  con 
tractor,  the  dishonest  quartermaster,  or  his  rich  and  splendid 
agent  and  go  between  ?  Which  of  you  has  declined  the  prof 
fered  invitation  to  feast  at  the  elegant  table  of  Commodore 
Plug,  and  to  stuff  yourself  with  the  choice  sweets,  the  cham 
pagne,  and  turrapin  stews,  that  have  turned  the  head  and, 
addled  the  petty  and  narrow  brain  of  Judge  Bung,  making 
flunkeyism,  if  possible  more  detestable  than  corruption? 

All  of  you  who  have  not  resolutely  turned  away  from  the 
glitter  of  dishonest  wealth ;  all  of  you  who  have  not  hurled 
your  scorn  and  contempt  alike  upon  the  judge  and  his  friend 
and  broker,  as  well  as  upon  the  fraudulent  suitor,  that  called 
them  into  existence  ;  who  have  not  closed  your  doors  upon  the 
briber,  even  more  firmly  than  upon  the  bribed ;  upon  the 
suborner  than  upon  the  suborned  ;  have  basely  emptied  a  flood 
of  baleful  poison  at  the  roots  of  the  tree  over  which  you  have 
been  set  to  guard  and  watch.  If  it  still  lives  it  has  not  been 
through  your  act,  for  you  have  done  all  that  in  you  lies  to 
undo  the  work  of  better  men  than  you  are. 

As  we  have  said  before,  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  things, 
that  corruption  so  universal  could  continue.  To  be  tempting 
to  the  leaders  of  the  community,  it  must  be  to  the  advantage 
of  but  one  side  in  a  contest.  Justice,  when  once  purchased, 
must  have  been  true  to  her  engagements,  otherwise  she  was 
not  worth  the  purchase-money.  This  fact  produced  the  famous 
indignation  meeting,  and  this  it  was  in  a  great  measure,  though 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  163 

not  wholly,  that  purified  the  Washoe  bench,  and  scattered  and 
distributed  to  other  fields  of  industry  the  Washoe  bar  and  its 
accessories.  While  favorable  decisions  were  increasing  daily 
and  hourly,  in  market  price,  their  actual  practical  value  seemed 
to  be  going  with  equal  rapidity  in  precisely  the  opposite  direc 
tion.  The  fact  was  recognized  and  acted  upon,  and  the  sharp 
est  lawyers  were*  heard  recommending  the  settlement  and 
compromising  of  conflicting  claims,  outside  of  court.  But 
another  circumstance,  occurring  about  this  time,  assisted  greatly 
in  cleansing  the  filthy  fountain  of  justice.  The  supplies  of  money 
failed  suddenly.  Not  that  the  mines  became  less  rich,  but 
the  assessment  paying  public,  which  had  blindly  poured  out  at 
the  feet  of  mining  directors,  in  obedience  to  swindling  calls 
upon  shares,  vast  sums  of  money,  ostensibly  for  developing 
mines,  but  really  to  be  distributed  between  the  president,  the 
superintendent,  and  the  secretary,  opened  its  sleepy  eyes,  and 
closed  its  purse.  The  confidence  vein  had  been  worked  out. 
The  managers  of  "wild  cats"  had  "struck  a  horse"  in  the 
main  level.  Of  the  one  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of  nominal 
value  in  litigation  in  the  courts,  one  month  struck  off  one 
hundred  and  forty-five  millions.  These  had  chiefly  been  out 
side  mines,  "  wild  cats,"  as  they  were  called,  whose  existence 
depended  upon  the  stir  they  could  make.  The  fact  of  a  dozen 
suits  pending  against  one  of  them,  was  all  to  its  advantage. 
The  confiding  shareholders  at  a  distance  heard  of  the  vast 
expenses  incurred  by  the  law  suit,  and  believed  that  they  must 
have  a  good  mine,  otherwise  there  would  not  be  such  a  struggle 
over  its  possession.  So  they  freely,  even  eagerly,  responded  to 
the  monthly  calls  levied  upon  the  shares,  and  the  resident 
managers  rioted  in  luxury  and  dissipation.  But  this  was 
brought  to  an  end  by  what  Mr.  Snakeweed  called  a  dangerous 
want  of  confidence.  There  was  no  longer  any  money  to  steal. 
No  more  money  could  be  distributed  in  bribes,  for  there  was 
none  to  pay  them  with.  The  rich  paying  mines  along  the 
Comstock  lode  were  brought  under  a  more  economical  man 
agement  by  the  alarmed  shareholders ;  secretaries  and  superin 
tendents  were  turned  out,  and  new  men  put  in  their  places  ; 
lawyers  employed  at  enormous  standing  salaiies,  through  fear 
of  their  influence  being  thrown  upon  the  opposite  side,  were 
discharged  ;  suits  were  compromised  and  settled  ;  professional 
witnesses  and  professional  jurors  were  religated  back  to  their 
original  position  of  lawyers'  clerks,  and  lawyers'  runners,  and 
lawyers'  friends,  dependents,  and  poor  relations ;  and,  at  last, 


164  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

the  Washoe  bench,  and  the  Washoe  bar  stood  forth,  bright, 
shining,  spotless,  and  whitewashed.  But  all  of  this  took  place 
long  after  the  events  which  it  is  our  duty  to  record  here.  We 
only  mention  what  occurred  at  a  period  subsequent  to 
our  story,  in  order  to  assure  our  reader  that  the  state  of 
things  once  so  discouraging,  no  longer  exists.  It  will  be  a 
satisfaction  to  many  of  our  readers  to  know,  that  there  is  a 
point  where  judicial  and  legal  corruption  must  pause  ;  that  the 
harassed  litigant  may  deem  himself  in  a  measure  safe,  when 
the  subject  matter  of  the  dispute  is  consumed,  and  then,  at 
least,  the  fountain  of  justice  may  be  expected  to  run  clear. 
It  is  not  impossible  that  the  tribunal  of  Mr.  Justice  Ape  became 
a  respectable  court,  after  the  property  of  the  litigious  cats  had 
been  disposed  of,  and  so  it  was  in  Washoe.  But  at  the  time 
Harry  Stacey  paid  his  visit  to  that  interesting  country,  the 
cheese,  already  broken  into  bits,  was  being  greedily  munched 
by  the  courts  and  the  dependents,  and  its  rich  aroma  and 
delicate  flavor  had  mounted  to  the  brain  of  justice  and  caused 
her,  for  a  moment,  to  forget  herself. 

"  But  you  will  see  Napoleon  B.  Spelter  to-morrow  evening," 
continued  the  veteran  lawyer,  who  had  now  finished  his  dinner 
and  was  rising  from  the  table.  "  Perhaps,  sir,  when  you  have 
seen  and  conversed  with  him  you  may  yourself  be  able  to  ap 
preciate  the  force  of  my  remarks  upon  this  wonderful  man.  I 
shall  expect  to  find  you  ready  to  accompany  me  to  the  Washoe 
House  at  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  evening ;  and  until  that 
hour,  if  I  should  not  see  you  again,  I  will  bid  you  a  good- 
evening." 

Harry  promised  to  be  ready  in  time,  and  returning  the  good- 
evening  of  Mr.  Snakeweed,  they  separated ;  and  Harry  took  his 
way  to  the  apartments  of  Mr.  Graham. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

NO.    1 6,    AMERICAN    EAGLE    HOTEL. 

HARRY  STAGEY  found  the  ladies  at  home  when  he  called  at 
No.  1 6,  but  Mr.  Graham  had  already  finished  his  dinner  and 
hurried  away  to  the  office.  Helen  met  him  at  the  door  and 
opened  it  for  him.  Poor  girl,  she  had  heard  of  his  arrival,  and 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  165 

that  it  was  a  visit  of  business  in  the  employment  of  her  father. 
"He  has  not  come  to  see  me,"  thought  she.  "He  did  not 
come  down  to  bid  me  good-by  when  I  came  away,  and  now 
if  I  see  him  it  is  because  he  has  been  employed  by  my  father  to 
come,  and  not  of  his  own  wish  to  see  the  girl  who  has  been  so 
foolish  as  to  throw  her  heart  at  his  feet."  She  shook  hands 
with  him  and  bade  him  good  evening. 

"  My  father  is  not  at  home,"  she  said,  blushing  red  as  a  rose, 
which  Harry  was  too  confused  to  see,  and  holding  the  door 
open  as  if  in  doubt  whether  he  would  enter  after  that  announce 
ment 

"Who  is  it,  Helen?"  cried  Matilda.  "Is  not  that  Mr. 
Stacey's  voice  ?  "  and  she  rose  from  the  sofa.  "  Oh,  come  in, 
sir  !  "  she  cried,  with  great  joy.  "I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Stacey ! "  and  Harry  was  drawn  into  the  room  which  he  had 
been  on  the  point  of  leaving  at  the  threshold,  under  pretence  of 
going  away  to  see  his  client. 

But  if  he  doubted  of  his  welcome  on  the  part  of  Helen,  the 
manner  of  her  mother  was  all  that  he  could  wish  for.  If  he  had 
been  an  only  son  long  absent,  he  could  not  have  been  more 
warmly,  more  cordially  received  by  Mrs.  Graham.  She  sat  up 
on  the  sofa  on  which  she  had  been  reclining  the  whole  day. 

"  I  am  quite  well,  dear  Baby,"  she  said  to  Helen,  who  would 
have  made  her  lie  down  again.  "  Mr.  Stacey  brings  me  health. 
I  am  so  glad  to  see  him,"  and  she  seized  his  hand  and  held  it, 
and  made  him  sit  by  her  side. 

"  I  believe  you  are  in  love  with  Mr.  Stacey,  mamma,"  cried 
her  daughter.  "  If  his  sweetheart  were  here  to  see,  she  would, 
I  am  sure,  be  jealous." 

Harry's  heart  sank  within  him  upon  hearing  the  conjunction 
"  if"  that  lay  at  the  commencement  of  the  sentence. 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  to-night,"  said  Matilda  ;  "  I  am  so  glad  to 
see  him  that  I  feel  almost  restored  to  health  once  more.  You 
are  going  to  stay  with  us  some  time,  are  you  not,  Mr.  Stacey  ?  " 

"  No,"  Harry  said.  He  was  only  to  be  in  Virginia  two  days. 
He  had  come  upon  some  professional  business  which  Mr.  Gra 
ham  had  been  so  kind  as  to  confide  to  him,  and  expected  to 
complete  in  two  days  all  that  could  be  done  for  the  present. 
"But,"  he  added,  with  a  self-denying  smile,  "  I  shall  be  called 
hither  from  time  to  time  more  than  once  within  the  next  year, 
and  you  will  see  quite  enough  of  me,  I  am  sure,  before  the 
business  is  finished." 


166  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"  Not  unless  you  stay  all  of  the  time,"  cried  Mrs.  Graham, 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  could  not  be  other  than  genuine. 

"Ah,"  thought  Harry,  "  if  the  daughter  would  only  welcome 
me  in  this  manner.  But,"  and  here  he  struggled  to  repress  a 
sigh,  "  the  mother  does  not  see  in  me  a  suitor  for  her  daughter's 
hand  or  she  would  not  be  so  cordial."  But  he  could  not  help 
loving  Helen  more  than  ever  when  he  thought,  as  he  now  did, 
that  she  was  concealing  from  her  parents  the  discovery  she  alone 
had  made  of  his  passion  for  her.  "  She  does  not  wish  to  hu 
miliate  me,"  he  thought,  "and -so  she  does  not  tell  them  of  my 
ridiculous  and  foolish  ambition." 

So  Matilda  sat  upon  the  sofa,  and  held  Harry's  hand  in  her's 
as  if  it  had  been  her  son  that  had  come  home  to  her  after  a  long 
and  perilous  absence. 

"Tell  me  everything,"  she  cried,  "we  are  both  dying  to  hear 
of  all  that  has  occurred  at  the  Cosmodental  Hotel  since  we 
came  away." 

Harry  thought,  "if  you  are  both  so  anxious,  why  is  it  that 
only  one  of  you  takes  the  pains  to  ask  or  even  to  evince  the 
slightest  curiosity  about  it  ?  " 

"  How  is   dear  Blanche    Mclver,  and   her  father. 

Matilda  was  glad  to  hear  of  the  well-being  of  all  of  these,  for 
she  loved  them  dearly.  Colonel  Hornspout  was  the  kindest 
gentleman  in  the  world,  she  said,  and  if  he  had  added  to  his 
poem,  she  for  one  would  listen  to  it  to  the  end  though  it  were 
a  thousand  verses  long,  out  of  respect  for  the  loyal  and  honest 
nature  of  the  author,  if  for  no  other  reason.  When  the  subject 
was  exhausted,  she  turned  to  Henry. 

"Tell  us  about  yourself,"  she  said,  "for  you  are  not  to  be 
forgotten.  Have  you  been  well  ?  Are  you  prosperous  ?  What 
are  your  hopes  ?  We  know  you  are  just  embarking  in  life,  and 
we  know  that  you  will  succeed,  for  you  deserve  to  succeed.  So 
pardon  our  asking  you  about  it,  for  we  feel  that  your  joy  is  our 
joy." 

Tears  came  into  poor  Harry's  eyes,  and  he  thanked  the  kind 
lady  for  the  interest  she  took  in  him. 

"  I  am  doing  as  well  as  I  have  any  right  to  expect,"  he  de 
clared ;  "but  that  is  not  much."  He  could  not  tell  her  how 
well  he  was  succeeding.  "  I  cannot  make  this  ingenuous  ques 
tion  of  a  noble-hearted  lady  a  means  of  setting  up  my  prospects 
with  the  one  I  love.  Did  she  suspect  what  is  in  my  heart  she 
would  not  ask  me  such  a  question.  Perhaps  she  would  not 
even  permit  me  to  be  here  in  friendly  and  kindly  conversation 
with  her."  So  he  said  that  he  was  not  in  absolute  failing  cir- 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  167 

cumstances,  but  that  he  could  not  say  that  success  had  placed 
itself  as  yet  within  even  hoping  distance. 

"  Courage,  my  dear  young  friend  !  "  cried  Matilda,  observing 
the  despondent  tone  of  Harry's  voice.  "  I  am  sure  that  you 
will  succeed ;  and,  though  I  may  not  live  to  see  it,  I  know  that 
you  will  yet  reach  the  supreme  point  of  your  ambition.  I  do 
not  for  a  moment  doubt  you.  I  can  see  plainly  enough  that 
your  honest  and  patient  merit  will  force  success  to  come  to 
you  and  surrender  herself  captive." 

Poor  Harry  blushed  to  the  eyes  at  the  kind  lady's  compli 
ments. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A   DECLARATION   OF    LOVE. 

DURING  the  first  month  after  the  arrival  of  the  Grahams  at 
Virginia  city,  their  life  need  not  be  described  except  in  a  gen 
eral  way.  The  flying  visit  of  Harry  Stacey  had  been  an  event, 
to  them,  of  importance ;  but  that  gone,  the  general  monotony 
of  their  dreary  existence  followed  without  interruption.  The 
ladies  kept  themselves  closely  in  their  rooms,  only  leaving  them 
to  take  their  meals  in  the  dining  saloon  of  the  hotel.  Had 
they  been  anxious  to  go  out  of  the  house,  they  could  not  have 
easily  done  so,  for  Mr.  Graham's  troubles  kept  him  almost  in 
cessantly  at  the  office  or  at  the  hoisting  works,  and  gave  him  no 
time  to  attend  upon  them.  They  knew  no  one  in  the  house  or 
the  town  when  they  arrived ;  and  their  habits  of  seclusion  pre 
vented  them  from  making  acquaintances.  Then  the  badness 
of  the  roads  and  the  natural  severity  and  barrenness  of  the 
scenery  in  the  vicinity,  made  rides  and  excursions  both  difficult 
and  uninviting.  The  town  itself,  as  we  have  already  said,  was 
little  else  than  a  succession  of  grog-shops ;  "dead-falls,"  as 
they  were  most  appropriately  called,  and  gambling-houses  al 
ternated,  with  occasional  provision  stores  scattered  along  indis 
criminately  upon  either  side  of  a  single,  long,  narrow,  straggling, 
unpaved  and  dirty  street.  This  was  filled  all  day  with  immense 
wagons,  drawn  by  horses  or  oxen,  engaged  in  hauling  ore  to 
the  crushing  mills.  The  four  walls  of  their  rooms  were  there 
fore,  not  only  the  most  agreeable  place,  but  almost  the  only 
place  that  was  practicably  accessible  to  them.  We  have  said 
they  possessed  no  acquaintances  in  Virginia,  but  this  was  not 


168  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

strictly  correct.  Bob  Greathouse,  the  murderer,  and  Jack 
Gowdy.  the  stage-driver,  were  both  inmates  of  the  hotel ;  they 
had  been  so  from  the  day  of  its  completion.  Greathouse  had 
come  there  because  it  was  the  best  hotel  in  the  town ;  and  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  making  his  home  only  in  the  best.  Gowdy, 
however,  had  found  himself  transferred  to  the  new  establish 
ment  by  arrangement  of  the  stage- company.  It  is  always  the 
custom  in  the  new  towns  of  the  west  for  the  hotel  at  which  the 
stages  halt,  to  board  all  of  the  drivers.  This  they  generally  do 
gratuitously  as  an  inducement  to  the  stage  proprietors  to  make 
the  house  the  starting  and  stopping  place  for  the  line.  The  la 
dies  were  always  glad  to  see  Greathouse  as  a  familiar  face 
amongst  so  many  strange  ones.  And  though  they  had  some 
notion  of  his  standing  in  the  community,  for  the  well  known 
addition  to  his  name  would  have  alone  informed  them  of  that ; 
yet  his  conduct  towards  them  was  so  unexceptionable,  so  invari 
ably  polite  and  even  deferential,  that  they  could  have  found  no 
cause  to  treat  him  other  than  as  a  gentleman  of  good  position, 
even  had  they  felt  inclined  to  do  so ;  but  this,  Helen  for  some 
reason  that  she  did  not  explain  to  her  mother,  evidently  had  no 
notion  of  doing.  To  her,  Colonel  Greathouse  was  a  gentleman 
always  entitled  to  her  kindest  greeting  and  her  pleasantest  smile. 
They  met  every  day  in  the  passage-ways  of  the  hotel  as  the 
ladies  would  go  to  or  from  dinner  and  breakfast,  and  always  as 
old  friends.  Greathouse  would  generally  walk  with  them  as  far 
as  their  door,  and  standing  there  converse  a  few  minutes,  and 
go  away.  He  could  never,  however,  be  induced  to  cross  the 
threshold,  though  always  invited  and  even  pressed  to  do  so. 
He  would  look  into  the  "^enchanted  palace  "  as  he  sometimes 
would  laughingly  call  it,  where  the  beauties  were  kept  enthralled 
by  the  genii  of  Mount  Davidson.  But  he  never  had  time  to 
enter  ;  he  had  an  engagement .  of  some  sort  and  was  late.  He 
was  lazy  in  the  mornings  and  had  overslept  himself,  till  now  he 
must  run  away  to  attend  to  his  affairs ;  but  he  would  come  in 
and  sit  down  the  very  next  time  he  passed.  But  the  next  time 
some  other  excuse,  equally  polite  would  be  made.  He  seemed 
instinctively  to  feel  that  his  habits  of  life,  his  reputation  for  vio 
lence  and  lawlessness,  all  unfitted  him  for  the  companionship 
that  was  so  ingenuously  offered  to  him.  He  would  look  wist 
fully  into  the  parlor  of  Helen  and  her  mother  when  invited  to 
enter,  and  then  with  an  effort  tear  himself  away.  It  was  enough 
for  him  to  know  that  he  might  enter  and  be  welcome  if  he 
would ;  that  if  he  remained  without,  it  was  by  his  own  decree 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  169 

of  exclusion  ;  and  so  he  did  not  enter.  He  would  not  take  ad 
vantage  of  that  generous  confidence  that  had  led  the  beautiful, 
almost  the  noble  young  lady  to  overstep  the  conventionalities 
of  even  Washoe  society,  and  invite  to  a  friendly,  social  intima 
cy,-  the  outcast,  the  man  of  terror,  recognized  by  all  as  the  gam 
bler,  and  stigmatized  by  many  as  the  murderer.  But  with  Jack 
Gowdy  it  was  altogether  different:  he  had  no  such  delicate 
scruples ;  he  was  soon  on  the  most  delightful  terms  with  the 
family,  and  quite  at  ease  in  their  apartments.  No  sooner  would 
he  drive  up  to  the  door  of  the  American  Eagle,  from  his  trip 
over  the  mountains,  than  he  would  throw  the  lines  to  the  stable- 
boy,  and  walk  up  to  No.  16,  to  inquire  after  the  health  of  the 
ladies.  And  that  was  not  all ;  for  when  the  door  was  opened, 
Jack  would  walk  in  without  ceremony  and  plump  down  upon 
the  floor  some  contribution  to  the  comfort  or  pleasure  of  the 
ladies.  Sometimes  it  would  be  a  huge  box  of  oranges  or  apples, 
or  a  basket  of  California  pears;  or  perhaps  it  would  take  a 
more  sentimental  turn  and  prove  to  be  a  beautiful  flowering 
geranium,  brought  all  the  way  from  sunny  Sacramento  ;  a  rose- 
tree  covered  with  roses ;  or  even  a  fresh  Camelia  in  blossom. 
Thanks  to  Jack's  remembrance,  Helen's  little  parlor  and  bal 
cony  was  transformed  into  a  regular  hot-house  of  roses  and 
beautiful  exotics,  not  one  of  which  could  have  been  found  in 
Washoe,  and  which  only  his  careful  attention  could  have  brought 
safely  over  the  mountains.  At  first  Helen  tried  to  induce  Jack 
to  accept  from  her,  at  least  the  amount  that  these  articles  ha4" 
cost  him  in  California,  but  in  vain. 

"Jack  Gowdy  is  a  stage-driver,  Miss,"  he  answered,  "and  is 
not  at  present  in  the  fruit  and  flower-selling  line ;  when  he  is, 
if  he  is  lucky  enough  to  have  your  trade  with  him,  he  will  send 
you  his  bill." 

"  But,  Jack,"  argued  Helen,  "  stage-drivers  are  not  rich  men 
generally,  and  they  can' t  afford  to  spend  their  money  in  presents 
to  young  ladies." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  fair,  Miss,  to  taunt  a  fellow  about  his 
poverty,  or  about  his  business,  so  long  as  it  is  a  gentlemanly 
one,"  said  Jack,  evidently  hurt.  "  I  needn't  have  been  poor  if 
I  had  taken  care  of  my  money,  as  some  folks  do,  I'd  have 
plenty ;  but  I  don't  care  for  money,  and  never  did,  and  I  hope 
I  never  shall.  When  I  first  came  to  this  Territory,  I  could  have 
bought  the  whole  Comstock  Lode  for  fifty  dollars.  And  if  I 
hadn't  bet  all  my  money  the  night  before  on  three  aces  and  a 


170  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

pair  of  nines,  and  lost  it,  the  Comstock  Lode  would  be  mine 
to-day,  and  I  would  not  be  driving  stage." 

"  Oh,  Jack,"  cried  Helen,  "  I  didn't  intend  to  hurt  your  feel 
ings." 

"  But  I  have  never  regretted  it,  Miss,"  continued  Jack,  pay 
ing  no  heed  to  the  lady's  apology;  "and  I'd  do  the  same  thing 
over  again  to-night  if  I  had  the  chance.  The  bet  was  a  judi 
cious  bet  if  it  did  loose." 

"But  Jack,  Jack,"  said  Helen,  beseechingly,  "listen  to  me." 

But  Jack  paid  no  attention,  he  was  only  anxious  to  put  him- ' 
self  right,  by  an  explanation  of  his  own  position. 

"By  a  combination  that  won't  happen  one  time  in  a  million, 
Jack  Skaggs  dealt  himself  four  trays,  and  swept  the  board.  A 
man  can't  expect  it  to  come  his  way  every  time;  all  he  can 
do  is  to  act  prudently  and  judiciously,  and  then  if  he  looses, 
he  has  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  it  is  not  his  fault." 

Again,  Helen  tried  to  explain ;  but  Jack  was  inexorable  and 
went  on, — 

"Miss,  everybody  can't  be  rich,  and  you  ought  not  to  throw 
up  a  man's  poverty  to  him,  nor  yet  his  calling,  if  it  is  a  gentle 
manly  one,  as  everybody  knows  stage-driving  is." 

"  There,  now,  Jack  1  hope  you  have  done  scolding  me.  You 
are  a  really  cruel  fellow  to  go  on  so,  when  I  meant  no  harm, 
but  only  for  your  good.  I  am  sorry  that  I  said  anything  to  hurt 
your  feelings.  Forgive  me,  and  take  my  hand,  will  you  ?  " 

Jack's  wrath  was  gone  in  an  instant.  He  could  scarcely  keep 
the  tears  from  bursting  forth  and  running  down  his  nose.  But 
he  took  her  hand. 

"  I'm  a  ruffian,  Miss  Helen,  for  thinking  that  you  could  ever 
intend  to  hurt  anybody  in  this  world.  I  am  the  one  to  apolo-v 
gise,  and  not  you  ;  and  if  I  hadn't  been  a  vulgar,  ignorant,  stage- 
driver,  I  would  never  have  brought  you  to  the  point  of  asking 
me  to  forgive  you,  when  you  hadn't  done  nothing  but  behave 
like  a  born  lady  as  you  are,  and  always  was,  and  always  will 
be." 

"  Come  now  Jack,  it's  all  over  and  we  are  friends  ;  and  you 
sha'n't  talk  that  way  about  yourself;  but  I  would  rather  you 
would  not  spend  quite  so  much  for  me,  unless  you  intend  to  let 
me  pay  you  back  ;  it  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  right. 

"  Indeed.  Miss  Helen,"  said  Jack,  imploringly  ;  "let  me 
have  my  way  about  this  thing ;  I  never  have  had  a  chance  to 
spend  any  money  on  anybody  but  myself  in  this  country  ;  I've 
got  no  kinsfolk  except  two  brothers,  that's  a  driving  stage  down 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  171 

on  the  Gilla,  and  over  towards  El  Paso ;  at  all  events  they  are 
there,  if  whiskey,  or  the  Apaches  havn't  got  them  yet ;  for 
there  is  a  fight  going  on  all  the  time,  as  to  which  of  them  two 
shall  take  the  boys  into  camp  first.  They  can  take  care  of 
themselves  as  well  as  I  can.  I  never  save  any  money,  it  all 
goes  on  cards  in  some  way.  If  it  isn't  pharo,  it  is  poker  or 
seven-tip,  and  they  are  just  as  uncertain  games.  Sometimes 
maybe  you've  noticed  that  I  haven't  come  in  to  see  you  when 
the  stage  has  got  in  of  an  evening ;  well,  its  been  because  I've 
been  ashamed  to  look  at  you  ;  for  I've  been  over  to  Sacra 
mento  and  drawn  my  money  at  the  office,  and  gone  agin  pharo 
and  it  hasn't  come  my  way.  And  then,  when  I  have  been 
starting  over  the  mountains  the  next  morning,  I've  seen  some 
little  trifling  thing,  that  maybe,  wouldn't  have  cost  a  dollar ; 
a  flower-pot  or  some  little  woman's  trick  like  that,  and  have 
thought  how  much  good  it  would  do  the  yellow-haired  lady, 
that  was  wasting  away  for  want  of  the  sun,  in  No.  16,  over  here 
in  the  mines,  and  I've  felt  that  I  would  like  to  take  it  to  her, 
and  I  didn't  have  the  dollar  to  buy  it  with,  all  owing  to  a  card 
falling  on  the  wrong  pile.  And  them's  the  times  I  didn't  come 
to  see  you,  Miss  Helen.  Nothing  that  I've  ever  brought  to 
you  has  done  you  half  so  much  good  as  your  "  thank  ye,  Jack," 
has  done  me." 

"  Oh  !  Jack,  you  are  too  kind  ;  poor  fellow,  you  must  come 
to  see  me  just  the  same,  whether  you  bring  me  anything  or  not. 
Don't  forget  that.  And  Jack  you  must  try  and  let  cards  alone 
and  save  your  money." 

"Well,  only  let  me  do  as  I  please  about  it,  Miss  Helen.  It 
isn't  with  me,  you  know,  as  it  is  with  them  rich  superintendents 
and  mining  directors,  that  cut  around  here,  driving  their  double 
teams  up  and  down  the  Grade,  going  a  mile  inside  of  three 
minutes ;  dashing  out  to  Steamboat  Springs  of  a  Sunday,  and 
spending  the  money  they've  stole  through  the  week  from  the 
shareholders.  Of  course,  you  can't  receive  attention  from 
them  fellows,  for  they'd  want  to  marry  you,  or  some  outrageous 
thing  like  that.  But  with  me,  you  know,  I  don't  want  anything 
from  anybody  that  is  not  justly  my  due,  and  I  know  you  are 
too  good,  too  well  educated,  and  too  beautiful  for  anybody  in 
this  Territory.  And  besides,  Jack  Gowdy  don't  want  to 
marry  no  lady,  much  less  a  beautiful  lady,  good  enough  to  be 
the  wife  of  General  Jackson  himself,  if  he  was  here,  and 
wanted  to  marry." 

"  There,  there,  Jack,"  cried  Helen,  now  run  along  ;  "you  are 


172  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

as  gallant  as  you  are  generous.  Good  bye,"  and  Jack  found 
himself  turned  out.  But  though  Bob  Greathouse  did  not  enter 
the  apartments  of  the  Grahams,  he  brought  Charley  Hunter  to 
Helen,  and  asked  her  to  become  acquainted  with  the  boy,  and 
to  be  kind  to  him.  This  she  cheerfully  promised  to  do ;  and 
from  that  time,  Charley  was  a  daily  and  constant  visitor  at  No. 
1 6.  Perhaps  the  sorest  trials  that  the  young  lady  had  to 
undergo,  were  the  constant  visits  of  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone, 
morning,  noon,  and  night.  From  the  moment  of  the  arrival  of 
the  family,  that  gentleman  had  commenced,  what  may  be  called 
a  regular  courtship  of  the  young  lady,  of  whom  he  professed 
to  be  enamored.  It  was  nothing  short  of  a  siege.  He  had 
set  down  before  the  walls  that  enclosed  the-coveted  prize,  and 
was  evidently  determined  to  reduce  the  works,  by  process  of 
circumvallation.  He  would  starve  her  into  submission,  if  she 
would  not  love ;  him  at  least,  she  should  see  no  one  else  to 
love,  should  hear  of  no  one  else,  should  think  of  no  one  else. 
He  had  arranged  it,  so  that  his  apartments  were  not  only  upon 
the  same  floor  of  the  hotel,  but  were  in  the  hall,  and  almost 
adjoining  those  of  Mr.  Graham.  Though  this  was  excessively 
annoying  to  Helen,  she  never  mentioned  the  fact  to  her  father, 
or  to  her  mother,  even  by  so  much  as  a  hint.  She  saw  her 
father  going  out  of  his  rooms  each  morning,  with  a  growing 
look  of  sadness,  to  take  his  place  at  the  office  of  the  mine,  and 
her  heart  told  her,  but  too  distinctly,  that  his  burden  was  already 
heavy  enough,  without  increasing  it  by  so  much  as  a  single 
feather  from  her  load.  Mr.  Graham  never  mentioned  the 
name  of  Enoch  Bloodstone  to  her,  in  connection  with  his  con 
tinuous  offer  of  marriage  ;  nor  had  the  daughter  referred  to  the 
subject  since  the  old  correspondence,  more  than  a  year  before. 
It  appeared  to  Helen  that  the  subject  of  Mr.  Bloodstone's 
attentions  was  a  painful  one  to  her  father ;  her  treatment  of 
that  gentleman  was  as  polite,  even  as  cordial  as  she  could 
make  it,  without  absolute  violence  to  her  feelings.  She  always 
received  his  visits  cheerfully,  no  matter  how  often  they  were 
made,  or  how  apparently  inopportune  the  time ;  but  she  never 
went  out  with  him.  Each  day  for  weeks,  he  met  her  in  the 
parlor  with  an  invitation  to  drive,  to  ride,  or  to  attend  the 
theatre.  But  this  was  invariably  declined,  pleasantly  and 
firmly.  "She  never,"  she  said,  "went  anywhere  away  from 
home,  unaccompanied  by  her  father  or  mother ;  she  would  go 
if  they  would  go."  But  the  father  somehow  was  never  asked, 
and  the  mother,  though  without  concert  with  Helen  of  any 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  173 

sort,  still  always  made  some  excuse,  and  did  not  go.  Mr. 
Bloodstone  would  often  appear  to  be  annoyed  at  this  refusal, 
but  his  visits  did  not  grow  any  less  frequent  on  that  account ;  his 
manner  too,  gradually  assumed  a  domineering  and  meddling  turn. 
He  began  to  take  upon  himself  the  privilege  of  controlling  the 
actions  of  the  young  lady.  The  seige  was  apparently  in  his 
judgment,  coming  to  a  close,  and  the  beleaguered  garrison  was 
about  to  surrender.  He  did  not  like  the  acquaintance  that 
had  been  formed  with  Bob  Greathouse  and  Jack  Gowdy. 
"They  were  low,  disreputable  people,"  he  said,  that  a  lady  who 
respected  herself,  or  her  friends,  would  not  condescend  to 
recognize,  or  speak  with.  As  for  Greathouse,  he  was  a  gam 
bler,  and  his  name  of  murderer  alone  was  sufficient  to  exclude 
him  from  respectable  society.  And  Gowdy  was  a  low,  igno- 
rant:  drunken,  card  playing  Pike  Countian,  and  if  this  was  not 
enough,  he  was  a  stage-driver." 

All  of  this  Helen  submitted  to  with  marvellous  patience. 
If  her  father  was  obliged  to  endure  such  a  man  to  be  about  him 
daily,  with  all  of  his  troubles,  she,  as  his  daughter,  ought  not  to 
complain  of  the  petty  annoyances  he  inflicted  upon  her.  But 
though  she  allowed  Bloodstone  to  talk  as  much  as  he  would, 
she  made  no  change  in  her  conduct  towards  Greathouse  or  the 
stage-driver.  She  met  Bob  each  day  in  the  hall,  and  saluted 
him  cordially,  and  when,  as  they  walked,  they  reached  the  door 
of  No.  1 6,  she  turned  and  invited  him  kindly,  and  with  evident 
sincerity  to  forget  his  business  engagements  for  that  once,  and 
enter  the  parlor.  But  the  invitation  was  always  declined;  only 
once,  when  Greathouse  looked  in,  and  saw  Bloodstone,  who 
happened  that  time  to  be  sitting  on  the  sofa,  looking  angry 
and  sullen,  did  he  appear  to  hesitate  in  his  invariable  resolution. 
For  a  moment  Helen  thought  he  was  coming  in,  but  after 
returning  Bloodstone's  contemptuous  look,  by  another  of  fierce 
defiance,  that  caused  that  gentleman  to  tremble  and  turn  pale. 
He  changed  back  again,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  to  his  old 
excuse  of  business  engagements,  and  went  his  way.  As  for 
Jack  Gowdy,  she  found  no  more  fault  with  his  attentions. 
She  saw  and  appreciated  the  sincerity  and  disinterestedness  of 
his  devotion  to  her,  and  with  a  secret  resolve,  at  some  future 
time,  to  repay  him,  perhaps  when  he  should  be  in  more  need  of 
it,  the  amount  of  his  outlay.  She  accepted  with  thanks  the 
fruit  and  flowers  brought  by  him,  each  trip  over  the  mountains, 
with  so  much  delicacy  and  care.  And  when,  as  once  occurred, 
Mr.  Bloodstone  sneered  at  the  pointed  attentions  of  hei 


174  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

suitors,  the  gambler  and  the  stage-driver,  and  asked  her  when 
the  wedding  would  take  place,  she  turned  upon  him,  and  an 
swered  with  lofty  carriage,  "  That  it  would  take  place  as  soon 
as  she  could  determine  in  her  mind  which  of  the  two  she  loved 
the  most."  But  her  wrath  blazed  so  high,  that  its  heat  did  not 
burn  out  with  this  rebuke,  and  she  went  beyond,  and  added 
"  That  they  were  the  only  gentlemen  in  behavior  she  had  met 
with  in  Washoe,  and  that  many  others  in  that  Territory  might 
copy  them  with  very  great  advantage  to  themselves,  as  well  as 
to  the  cause  of  good  breeding." 

Mr.  Bloodstone  had  not  courage  to  face  the  lady  again  upon 
this  subject,  for  he  saw  that  there  was  a  point  beyond  which 
he  could  not  drive  her,  without  a  recoil  that  was  mortifying  to 
himself.  So  he  let  matters  take  their  own  course,  contenting 
himself  with  gathering  together  all  the  stories  of  the  early 
broils  and  bloody  engagements  of  Greathouse,  and  carefully 
detailing  them  to  the  ladies  whenever  he  called  upon  them. 
He  was  jealous  of  Bob,  and  feared  that  Helen  would  fall  in 
love  with  him;  while  she,  on  the  other  hand,  so  thoroughly 
detested  Bloodstone,  that  she  would  willingly  have  had  him 
think  so,  if  she  could  have  brought  it  about,  without  either 
directly,  or  by  implication,  telling  a  falsehood. 

Of  all  of  these  things  Mr.  Graham  either  was,  or  appeared  to 
be,  totally  ignorant.  For  some  reason  he  always  absented  him 
self  from  home  while  Bloodstone  was  there.  He  had  business 
at  the  office,  or  at  the  hoisting  works,  even  when  he  would 
come  in  apparently  with  the  intention  of  remaining  for  a  time. 
If  Bloodstone,  as  often  occurred,  dropped  in  afterwards,  it  ap 
peared  to  change  suddenly  Mr.  Graham's  plans,  and  he  would 
remember  some  business  that  required  his  attention,  and  would 
withdraw,  almost  with  painful  haste.  Helen  observed  the  conduct 
of  her  father,  without  speaking  of  it.  She  dreaded  to  inquire 
the  cause.  As  ailing  people  sometimes  fail  to  consult  a  physi 
cian,  through  fear  that  his  examination  may  reveal  some  un 
known,  and  mortal  disorder  hitherto  concealed ;  so  did  poor 
Helen  shrink  from  probing  to  the  bottom  the  mysterious  secret 
of  her  father's  connection  with  Bloodstone,  lest  it  might  show 
something  more  cruel  towards  her  own  future,  than  she  now 
dared  to  allow  herself  to  think  of.  That  Bloodstone  had  made 
heavy  advances  of  money  to  her  father,  to  enable  him  to 
explore  the  mines,  she  was  already  well  aware ;  but  what  obli 
gation  he  had  come  under,  to  her  suitor,  to  induce  him  to  do 
so,  she  did  not  know,  nor  did  she  dare  to  ask.  In  that  quarter 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  175 

lav  fearful  misery  and  blasted  hopes.  Was  it  strange  that  she 
did  not  wish  to  explore  so  forbidding  a  field  ?  In  this  manner, 
and  with  no  change,  at  least,  for  the  better,  in  the  prospects  of 
the  Graham  family,  the  winter  passed  away  and  spring  came. 
The  mine  had  been  worked  but  little  of  late  ;  in  fact,  Mr.  Blood 
stone  had  told  Mr.  Graham  that  his  own  fortune  was  nearly 
exhausted,  and  that  the  gangs  of  men  were  still  kept  at  work 
in  the  extreme  bottom  of  the  mine,  but  the  rock  instead  of 
growing  more  favorable  to  expectations  of  silver,  became  daily 
less  and  less  encouraging,  until  Mr.  Graham  at  last,  himself 
felt  that  hope  was  well  nigh  gone,  and  that  he  ought  not  to 
expect  Bloodstone  to  longer  proceed  with  the  enterprise. 

And  now  Helen  observed  an  even  more  marked  change  in 
her  father's  conduct  towards  herself.  He  appeared  actually  to 
dread  to  speak  to  her  and  constantly  avoided  her.  She  had 
long  seen  that  the  old  confidence  that  had  once  made  them 
more  like  brother  and  sister  than  father  and  daughter,  had 
passed  away  and  was  gone.  The  bare  danger  of  being  alone 
with  her  for  an  instant  seemed  to  drive  him  from  the  house, 
so  that  the  ladies  scarcely  ever  saw  him  during  his  waking 
moments. 

To  make  matters  worse  for  Helen,  her  mother's  health  did 
not  improve.  She  appeared  to  be  constantly  failing;  not 
rapidly  and  suddenly,  but  each  week  or  month  that  passed 
away  left,  her  not  quite  as  well  as  during  the  previous 
period. 

She  could  not  now  disclose  to  her  poor,  failing  mother  the 
grief  that  was  weighing  upon  her  heart.  No,  she  would  bear  it 
herself  alone. 

Each  day  she  resolved  to  throw  herself  at  her  father's  feet, 
and  beg  him  to  tell  her  all.  She  would  say  to  him,  — 

"  Dear  father,  fear  not  your  little  Helen  !  No  matter  what 
you  wish  her  to  do,  she  will  do  it  and  do  it  cheerfully.  Do  not 
think  that  she  will  avoid  the  sacrifice.  If,  like  Jeptha,  you  have 
made  a  vow  to  sacrifice  the  first  that  comes  from  your  door  to 
meet  you,  your  darling  knows  that  it  must  be  herself,  and  she 
will  not  ask  you  to  go  back,  but  will  joyfully  pay  the  penalty. 
Only  meet  her  once  more  as  you  used  to  do,  and  take  her  to 
your  heart ;  this  is  all  she  asks." 

But  she  never  said  it.  When  they  met  he  gave  her  no  op 
portunity.  He  seemed  to  fear  the  very  presence  and  sight  of 
his  daughter. 

It  soon  became  apparent  that  her  mother  observed  what  was 


176  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

going  on,  and  that  her  health  was  visibly  affected  by  it  She 
spoke  to  Helen  of  the  change  in  her  father's  manner  as  a  great 
calamity  that  had  come  upon  them.  Her  husband  was  no 
longer  himself,  she  said,  — 

"  He  has  lost  his  love  for  me,  now  that  I  have  become  an 
invalid ! " 

At  times,  with  the  peevishness  of  the  sick-room,  she  would 
speak  of  herself  as  an  incumbrance,  a  drag  upon  her  Edmond, 
to  be  thrown  aside. 

<k  He  does  not  love  me  any  more,  and  since  I  have  lost  his 
love,  why  should  I  live  ?  " 

Poor  Helen  found  her  soul  bowed  down  with  grief.  She 
was  bearing  more  than  her  share.  She  had  given  away  her 
own  heart,  and  it  had  been  tossed  back  to  her  as  an  idle  thing, 
so  she  thought.  And  now  her  mother,  prostrate  more  by  men 
tal  than  physical  disorders,  called  for  all  her  watchfulness  and 
tender  care. 

So  this  state  of  sorrow,  half  concealed,  and  disappointment 
hidden  continued  in  the  house,  till  it  appeared  to  be  at  its  very 
worst,  when  one  day  a  ray  of  sunshine  illumined,  not  only  the 
gloomy  sick-room,  but  at  least  two  of  the  drooping  hearts 
therein. 

This  was  the  arrival  of  Harry  Stacey. 

He  had  again  been  called  to  the  Territory  by  the  slowly  pro 
gressing  suit  of  the  Bosh  Company  against  Mr.  Graham. 
Some  demurrer  was  to  be  agreed  or  motion  to  be  resisted. 
Not  a  matter  of  great  importance,  for  the  suit  was  not  being 
pressed  with  the  energy  that  would  have  been  thrown  into  it, 
had  the  possessor  of  the  mines  been  more  fortunate  with  his 
discoveries.  He  had,  as  before,  come  for  but  a  few  days 
only. 

But  this  time  his  manner  was  greatly  changed.  Whether  the 
constant  advice  of  Blanche  Mclver  to  press  his  suit  openly  had 
influenced  him  or  not  we  are  unable  to  say.  But  it  is  certain 
that  he  approached  Helen  this  time  with  a  boldness  that  re 
kindled  in  her  heart  all  the  latent  hopes  that  had  so  long 
smouldered  in  concealment. 

The  effect  upon  the  mother  was  even  more  marked  than  up 
on  the  daughter.  It  was  again  as  if  her  son  had  come  back  to 
her  once  more.  She  almost  forgot  her  ailings.  For  some 
time  past  she  had  spent  the  day  as  well  as  the  night  in  her 
bed.  She  had  seemed  to  lack  the  courage  more  than  the 
strength  necessary  to  rise.  But  now  that  Mr.  Stacey  had  come, 


ROBERT  GEEATHOUSE.  177 

she  insisted  upon  being  dressed  and  setting  up  two  or  three 
hours  each  day. 

And  so  the  three  spent  the  few  days  of  Harry's  visit,  or  so 
much  of  them  as  he  could  spare  for  that  purpose,  in  the  little 
parlor  of  No.  16. 

Helen  found  heart  and  voice  to  sing  her  old  songs  once 
more,  and  the  mother,  for  the  moment,  forgot  to  repine  at  the 
altered  manner  of  her  husband.  The  daughter  sang  Robin 
Adair  without  being  asked  to  sing  it.  Indeed,  she  found  her 
self  singing  that  song  almost  without  knowing  why. 

Each  day  that  Mr.  Stacey  lingered  in  Virginia,  and  he  had 
already  overstayed  his  first  limit,  Helen  found  herself  growing 
more  and  more  happy  in  his  presence.  It  was  a  beautiful 
dream  that  was  creeping  over  her.  A  fairy  island  was  drifting 
towards  the  young  girl.  It  was  the  rock  upon  which  she  had 
spent  the  day  with  her  lover,  now  transformed,  as  she  had  seen 
it  floating  upon  the  lake  at  Wilmington  in  her  dream  after  the 
ball.  Already  its  carpet  of  living  green,  its  spreading  palms 
and  incense-bearing  shrubs  were  coming  in  view.  And  when 
the  idol  of  her  heart  would  sit  near  her,  or  stand  by  the  piano 
when  she  sang,  his  smile  was  the  smile  she  had  seen  in  her 
dreams;  and  his  arm,  when  it  moved,  appeared  almost  to 
point  towards  the  approaching  scene  of  beauty  and  love.  He 
was  no  longer  the  occasional  visitor,  who  had  by  turns  fascin 
ated  her  with  his  cordiality  and  chilled  her  with  a  reserve  that 
approached  nearly  to  hauteur.  He  was  now  always  kind,  in 
genuous,  almost  loving.  At  times  she  thought  that  he  had  but  to 
open  his  mouth  and  a  winged  messenger  of  love  would  fly 
from  it  to  perch  at  her  ear,  and  tell  the  story  that  seemed  to 
be  already  bursting  from  his  eyes. 

But  he  did  not  speak,  and  his  going  away  always  awakened 
her,  not  merely  to  a  sense  of  disappointment,  but  to  a  notion, 
which  though  forgotten  while  Harry  was  present,  still  lay  like  a 
heavy  burden  pressing  upon  her  weary  and  overladen  heart  ;  a 
notion  that  her  moments  of  happiness  were  the  price  of  treason 
to  her  suffering  father. 

"  How  can  I,"  she  thought,  "  dream  of  love,  of  joy  and 
happiness ,  when  I  see  his  sad  face  growing  hourly  more  pale 
and  careworn,  and  hear-  his  step,  once  so  light  and  springing, 
as  he  hurried  home  to  us,  resound  daily  more  heavy  and 
slow?" 

While  lying  in  her  bed  when  all  was  over,  she  would  feel  like 
a  guilty  thing  when  she  would  remember  the  light  and  even 


178  ROBERT   GREATPIOUSE. 

frivolous  music  that,  sitting  at  the  piano,  she  had  thrown  care 
lessly  off,  while  thinking  only  of  the  object  of  her  heart's  devo 
tion  at  her  side. 

At  last  the  time  when  Harry  must  absolutely  take  leave  of 
them  came  round.  He  called,  as  usual,  in  the  afternoon.  He 
must  go  away  the  evening  of  the  following  day,  so  he  said,  and 
this  must  be  his  last  visit  save  one.  Matilda  had  not  been  as 
well  as  usual  that  morning  and  had  not  arisen.  Helen  received 
him  alone. 

The  early  departure  of  Harry  seemed  that  afternoon  to  al 
ready  cast  a  gloom  upon  them  both.  For  the  first  time  since 
his  arrival,  a  reserve  such  as  had  so  chilled  them  on  former  oc 
casions  seemed  to  again  take  possession  of  the  two.  He  had 
something  special  to  say  to  Helen,  and  its  importance  appeared 
to  be  too  great  for  either  his  nerve  or  his  spirits.  She,  on 
the  other  hand,  seemed  to  feel  that  she  was  to  receive  a 
communication  from  him,  and  her  trepidation  was  as  great  as 
his. 

The  ordinary  familiar  subjects  of  conversation  that  had  been 
wholly  at  their  command  for  a  week  past,  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  taken  wings  and  flown  away  beyond  their  reach.  Music, 
poetry,  mutual  friends,  their  old  home  in  the  far  off  East,  the 
beautiful  forest  at  Wilmington,  all  seemed  unwilling  to  be 
talked  about.  Even  Blanche  Mclver,  beloved  by  both  of 
them,  was  now  forgotten,  and  her  familiar  name  not  men 
tioned.  And  so  an  hour  passed  away,  during  which  the  weather 
was  brought  under  discussion,  and  disposed  of  at  least  a  score  of 
times,  to  be  again  reverted  to  in  moments  of  desperation. 
Harry  had  taken  his  hat  to  go  ten  minutes  after  his  arri 
val,  but  seemed  unable  to  get  away,  though  in  apparent  read 
iness. 

At  last,  after  a  silence  that  had  continued  so  long  as  to  be 
come  positively  painful,  the  poor  fellow  spoke,  at  first,  in 
stammering  confusion,  but  gaining  courage  as  he  proceeded. 
Had  he  looked  once  at  Helen's  blushing  face,  he  would  have 
observed  what  young  gentlemen  never  do  observe  at  such 
times,  that  her  confusion  and  dismay  were  even  greater  than  his 
own.  But  he  did  not  look  at  her.  His  most  desperate  cour 
age  was  not  equal  to  such  an  enterprise  as  that. 

He  began  by  asking  her  as  a  favor  of  passing  value  to  him, 
to  listen  to  a  few  words  that  he  had  to  say.  Then  he  told  her 
of  his  life,  not  forgetting  to  go  beyond  his  own,  even  back  to 
the  parent  hive  in  Vermont,  and  tracing  the  little  swarm  to  its 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  179 

new  home  in  Ohio ;  and  so  down  to  the  moment  he  spoke. 
Nothing  was  omitted. 

Then  he  told  her  of  his  employment  by  Mr.  Graham,  and 
that  it  was  at  the  expense  and  upon  the  business  of  her  father 
that  he  was  at  that  moment  in  the  Territory.  It  was  not  in  ac 
cordance  with  his  notions  of  right,  he  said,  to  take  advantage  of 
such  an  opportunity  to  advance  his  own  interest  in  any  man 
ner,  save  by  the  faithful  performance  of  the  employment  intrust 
ed  to  him.  But  he  had,  he  said,  long  before  that  employment 
commenced,  bestowed  his  heart  upon  one  who  was  dearer  to  him 
than  his  own  life.  That  beloved  one  was  the  daughter  of  his 
client.  It  was  Helen  herself.  She  was  more  to  him  than  all 
the  world  beside.  But  he  would  consider  it  a  violation  of  his 
duty  to  Mr.  Graham  to  ask  her  love  in  return,  without  first 
having  obtained  his  consent  to  address  her.  This  he  had 
thought  of  carefully  and  considerately,  and  he  had  determined 
to  tell  the  object  of  his  adoration  all  that  lay  in  his  heart.  By 
doing  this,  he  might  perhaps  avoid  the  necessity  of  inflicting 
the  matter  upon  Mr.  Graham,  who  had  already  much  upon  his 
mind.  Should  the  lady  be  unable  to  give  him  any  encourage 
ment,  then  the  subject  could  be  left  at  this  point.  He  would 
accept  his  fate  from  her,  if  it  should  be  adverse.  But  if  there 
was  any  hope  for  him,  then  he  could  go  no  further  without  the 
consent  of  the  gentleman  who  had  given  him  admission  to  his 
family  circle  for  a  wholly  different  purpose.  He  would  not, 
therefore,  at  this  time,  ask  her  to  love  him,  nor,  indeed,  to 
give  him  any  answer  to-day.  He  would  declare  the  undy 
ing  passion  for  her  that  burnt  in  his  breast  in  a  blaze  as  strong 
as  his  own  nature,  and  then  he  would  come  again  to-morrow, 
and  ask  permission  to  visit  her  father,  and  to  ask  him  to  permit 
him  to  occupy  honorably  another  relationship  towards  himself 
than  the  one  of  paid  counsellor,  as  now  was  the  case. 

Helen  had  not  spoken  from  the  commencement  of  Harry's 
declaration  to  its  end.  He  had  not  permitted  her  to  do  so.  He 
had  only  been  anxious  for  her  to  hear  all  and  to  know  and  be 
lieve,  whatever  might  be  her  decision  upon  his  hopes,  that  he 
was  at  least  incapable  of  a  base  or  unmanly  attitude  towards 
any  one,  and  especially  towards  the  gentleman  in  whose  employ 
ment  he  was.  When  he  had  finished,  he  arose  to  take  leave  of 
her.  He  did  not  ask  for  an  answer  that  day.  He  would  call 
to-morrow.  He  still  did  not  look  at  her ;  had  he  done  so,  he 
would  not  have  gone  away,  for  he  would  have  read  her  answer 


180  EGBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

in  her  eyes.  Had  he  even  turned  to  her  to  take  leave,  her  joy 
would  have  been  too  apparent  to  be  overlooked  even  by  his  res 
olute  and  premeditated  blindness.  She  rose  as  he  did.  She 
longed  to  throw  herself  into  his  arms  and  to  pour  out  upon  his 
shoulder  the  flood  of  joy  that  gushed  up  from  the  fountain  of 
tier  soul.  She  could  have  sung  the  song  of  praise  and  glory,  for 
her  heart  was  full  of  gratitude  and  love.  The  beautiful  island 
had  floated  slowly,  but  surely,  towards  the  shore,  and  now  lay 
spread  out  before  her  in  all  its  fairy  loveliness,  inviting  her  to 
come  and  forget  all  but  happiness ;  and  the  idol  of  her  soul 
stood  by  her  side,  pointing  towards  it.  But  true  to  his  self-im 
posed  obligation,  he  stopped  not  to  hear  anything  from  her.  He 
would  call  to-morrow ;  and  so  the  door  closed  upon  him,  and 
he  passed  out  of  her  sight. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

AN   ENGAGEMENT  TO   MARRY. 

THE  reviving  effects  of  Harry  Stacey's  visit  upon  Matilda 
Graham  had  passed  away,  and  her  spirits  were  falling  again  into 
the  state  of  prostration  from  which  they  had  been  temporarily 
lifted  by  his  arrival.  Her  husband  had  daily  and  hourly  grown 
more  downcast  before  her  eyes  and  more  reticent  of  the  causes 
of  his  dejection.  She  had  not,  of  late,  been  let  into  the  secrets 
of  his  financial  difficulties.  Her  health  had  not  been  such  as  to 
make  it  advisable  to  do  so.  Doctor  Brierly,  who  also  resided  in 
the  hotel  and  called  every  day,  as  much  in  the  character  of  a 
friend  of  the  family  as  in  that  of  attendant  physician,  had  long 
since  recommended  that  everything  tending  to  produce  mental 
excitement  should  be  carefully  kept  from  her,  and  so  it  had  been 
done.  Mr.  Graham  had  struggled  long  and  manfully  to  so  con 
trol  his  feelings,  when  in  his  wife's  presence,  as  not  to  cause  her 
to  suspect  the  demon  of  care  that  was  gnawing  at  his  vitals. 
But  for  the  last  month  the  effort  had  failed.  True,  he  had 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  181 

told  her  nothing ;  but  his  sleepless  nights,  his  constant  tossing 
in  the  bed,  his  half-suppressed  moanings,  his  disturbed  and  fit 
ful  slumber,  with  his  depressed  manner  when  awake,  and,  of 
late,  his  increased  absence  from  home,  had  been  enough  to  not 
only  alarm  his  wife,  but  to  make  her  fear  that  matters  were  even 
more  desperate  than,  perhaps,  they  actually  were. 

We  have  said  in  the  last  chapter  that,  when  Harry  came  to 
inform  them  of  his  intended  departure,  that  Matilda  had  not 
arisen  from  her  bed.  She  knew,  however,  that  Harry  was  in  the 
parlor,  for  Helen  had  come  in  directly  upon  his  arrival  with  a 
message  of  greeting  from  him. 

"  Give  him  my  kindest  wishes,"  said  the  mother,  "  and  say 
that  to-morrow,  when  he  comes  to  take  leave  of  us,  I  shall  be 
up  to  receive  him  and  to  bid  him  adieu." 

And  so  the  daughter  had  gone  hopefully  back,  with  her 
mother's  kiss  upon  her  cheek,  to  the  interview  that  we  know 
left  her  so  happy  and  so  full  of  joy.  The  parlor  door  had 
scarcely  closed  upon  the  youug  man  as  he  went  away,  when 
Matilda  beheld  her  golden-haired  baby  rushing  to  her  arms,  her 
eyes  lit  up  and  beaming  with  pleasure. 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  she  said,  clasping  her  mother  in  her  arms  and 
bursting  into  tears,  "what  do  you  think?  He  loves  me." 

She  could  say  no  more,  but  lay  with  her  face  upon  her 
mother's  breast,  convulsively  sobbing. 

Matilda  rose  up  in  bed  and  took  her  darling  in  her  arms,  and  • 
kissed  and  stroked  her  beautiful  hair,  but  spoke  never  a  word. 
She  understood  it  all ;  there  were  no  questions  to  ask,  there  was 
nothing  more  to  tell,  at  least,  not  then.  Helen's  one  sentence, 
"  He  loves  me,"  had  explained  every  thing.  Matilda  only  kissed 
her  daughter  again  and  again,  while  tears  of  joy  rolled  down 
from  her  cheeks  and  mingled  with  those  of  her  daughter.  That 
they  would  have  soon  found  words,  is  altogether  certain ;  for, 
when  the  eyes  have  told  their  story,  the  lips  always  follow.  But, 
while  they  were  still  clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  as  Helen  lay 
mentally  gazing  at  the  beautiful  green  island  that  her  love  had 
painted  so  often,  now  so  near  the  shore  and  more  inviting  than 
ever,  a  sharp  knock  came  at  the  door,  sending  a  thrill  of  inde 
finable  terror  through  both,  waking  Helen  from  her  love  dream 
and  sending  her  fairy  land  far  away  again  to  the  back  ground. 
She  rose  hurriedly,  dried  her  eyes,  and  went  to  the  parlor. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  room.  The  knocking  had  been  at  the 
hall  door ;  with  a  vague  dread,  which,  perhaps,  arose  from 
her  reluctance  at  such  a  time  to  see  any  one,  she  advanced  to 


182  ROBERT  GREATHSUSE. 

the  door  and  threw  it  open.  A  gentleman  stood  without  await 
ing  admission.  It  was  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone.  The  presence 
of  this  superintendent  had  always  been  hateful  to  Helen  'Gra 
ham  from  the  first  day  that  she  had  met  him.  And,  since  her  res 
idence  in  Virginia,  he  had  become  daily  more  repulsive  to  her. 
For  some  time  before  Harry's  last  visit  she  had  grown  to  dread 
more  and  more  each  visit  of  this  man  as  if,  instinctively,  she  felt 
that  a  cruel  blow  was  about  to  be  struck  her  from  that  quarter. 
The  terrible  secret  that  had  separated  her  father  from  his  family 
each  day  gradually  took  form  and  became  more  distinctly  hor 
rible,  as  the  notion  grew  upon  her  that  Enoch  Bloodstone  was 
in  some  manner  wrapped  up  with  her  and  was  part  of  her  des 
tiny.  For  weeks  before  Harry's  arrival,  she  had  become  so 
nervous  in  thinking  and  studying  over  this,  that  the  very  foot 
steps  of  Bloodstone,  his  voice  in  the  distance,  overcame  her 
almost  as  a  vertigo.  Each  time  he  entered  the  room  she 
dreaded  that  some  frightful  development  would  occur  then,  and 
when  he  was  gone  and  there  had  been  no  catastrophe,  she  was 
left  so  racked  and  shaken  that  she  sometimes  was  obliged  to  go 
to  her  bed  to  recover  her  strength  and  composure  sufficiently  to 
appear  before  her  mother.  Since  Harry's  arrival,  for  some  un 
known  reason,  Bloodstone  had  scarcely  made  his  appearance  in 
the  apartments  of  Mr.  Graham.  This  change,  added  to  the  hap 
piness  of  her  now  budding  and  blooming  love,  had  caused  the 
man  to  be  almost  forgotten  by  the  young  girl,  or,  at  least,  to  only 
push  his  recollection  upon  her  in  the  shape  of  a  sickening  dream, 
or  disagreeable  souvenir  of  something  horrible  but  past.  But 
now  he  again  appeared  in  all  his  disgusting  and  hideous  famil 
iarity,  built,  so  Helen  thought,  upon  the  consciousness  of  his 
power.  Her  noble,  her  splendid  lover  had  disappeared,  the 
idol  of  her  heart,  her  defender,  her  chieftain  was  gone  as  in  the 
dream  and  the  venomous  monster  with  the  body  of  a  toad  and 
the  face  of  a  man  stood  in  his  place.  It  was  only  by  a  great 
effort  that  she  could  invite  her  visitor  to  enter  the  room.  Her 
visible  efforts  to  restrain  a  certain  involuntary  tendency  to  sob 
hysterically,  almost  to  scream,  were  only  barely  successful.  Mr. 
Bloodstone  saw  the  lady's  agitation,  but  without  remarking 
upon  it. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Graham,"  he  said,  in  his  everlasting 
high  and  harsh  key,  a  sort  of  business  voice,  that  had  always 
been  to  Helen  one  of  his  most  repulsive  peculiarities  ;  "  you 
are  looking  just  as  beautiful  as  ever." 

The  intended  compliment,  though  she  had  heard  it  a  hundred 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  183 

times  from  him,  never  had  so  jarred  and  graud  upon  her  mind 
as  now.  It  shocked  her  almost,  as  would  a  ribald  or  an  im 
modest  speech  made  to  a  wife.  She  wished  compliments  from 
none  now  in  the  world,  since  her  Harry  loved  her,  and  above 
all,  from  this  most  odious  and  hateful  of  men. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Bloodstone,"  she  said,  with  a  strong 
effort  to  appear  at  ease.  "Do  you  come  from  the  mine ?" 

"  Yes,"  be  answered  ;  "  I  wish  I  didn't." 

"Is  there  anything  wrong,  then?"  she  inquired,  anxiously, 
thinking  of  her  father  and  the  constantly  present  danger  that  is 
never  to  be  separated  from  working  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 
"  There  has  been  no  accident,  I  hope." 

"No;  nothing  special,  except  the  general  accident  of  our 
digging  down  in  the  ground  where  there  was  no  silver  ore.  The 
accident  of  guessing  the  wrong  spot.  That  is  a  bad  enough 
accident.  It  is  an  accident  that  has  cost  me  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars  in  hard  cash." 

Helen  made  no  reply  to  this  remark ;  there  was  indeed  none 
for  her  to  make.  She  was  not  conscious  of  having  been  to 
blame  for  the  unfortunate  mischance  that  had  been  so  disas 
trous  to  Mr.  Bloodstone.  But  saying  so  would,  she  knew,  avail 
nothing  ;  so  she  remained  silent. 

"  It  is  very  hard,"  he  continued,  "for  a  gentleman  of  fortune 
to  waste  it  all  for  the  benefit  of  other  people,  and  then  to  get 
nothing  in  return  from  them,  —  not  even  their  gratitude." 

This  latter  part  of  the  sentence  he  finished  with  considerable 
emphasis,  and  looking  hard  at  Helen.  The  wolf  was  roiling 
the  water  as  it  floated  down  to  the  lamb  he  intended  to  de 
vour. 

"  I  hope  that  my  father  is  not  ungrateful  for  any  favors  you 
may  have  extended  to  him,  Mr.  Bloodstone  ?  " 

"  No ;  your  father  is  not  an  ungrateful  man,  Miss  Graham  ; 
I  cannot  say  that,  and  I  will  not  say  it.  But  it  is  not  of  him 
that  I  speak." 

Helen  trembled ;  she  felt,  she  did  not  know  why,  that  she 
was  in  some  way  in  the  man's  power.  She  had  known  from 
the  first  to  whom  he  had  referred,  but  she  still  refused  to  under 
stand,  in  the  vain  hope  that  her  fears  had  been  exaggerated, 
and  tha'  she  would  yet  escape.  Even  now,  she  could  not  sum 
mon  the  breath  to  ask  him  who  had  been  ungrateful.  She 
waited,  and  he  spoke.  The  brook  that  lay  between  them  was 
not  yet  muddy  enough  to  justify  his  intended  spring  at  the 
lamb's  throat.  He  would  give  it  another  stir. 


184  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"  Miss  Graham,  I  came  up  here  more  than  a  year  ago,  after, 
as  you  know,  I  had  made  you  an  offer  of  marriage.  I  came 
up  here,  as  your  own  sense  will  tell  you,  because  I  was  in  love 
with  you,  and  wanted  to  marry  you.  I  did  not  know  anything 
about  your  father,  and  I  did  not  care  anything  about  him  ;  but 
I  came  up  here  and  hunted  him  up,  and  how  did  I  find  him  ? 
Why,  I  found  him  over  head  and  ears  in  debt.  He  owed  every 
body  in  the  Territory,  from  the  butcher  that  sold  him  beef,  up 
to  the  foundry-man  that  had  made  his  steam  engines  and  ma 
chinery.  He  couldn't  have  gone  on  a  week  longer  without 
being  in  the  hands  of  the  sheriff.  What  did  I  do,  Miss  Gra 
ham,  just  on  account  of  my  love  for  you  ?  You  know  what  I 
did,  just  as  well  as  you  know  why  I  did  it.  Do  you  not  ?  " 

Helen  only  stared  vacantly  at  his  hard,  inflexible  face.  She 
could  not  answer. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  don't,  I'll  tell  you.  I  stepped  in  and  paid 
his  debts,  and  set  him  on  his  legs  again.  Then  I  took  hold  of 
the  mine,  and  I  put  my  money  into  it,  all  for  your  sake.  May 
be  .you' 11  ask  how  much  of  my  money  I  put  into  that  mine  for 
you.  I'll  tell  you  that,  too,  —  I  put  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  hard  dollars  into  it.  Would  I  have  put  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  copper  cents  into  that  mine  for  your  father  ? 
No,  not  one  copper  cent.  I  cared  nothing  for  him,  —  I  knew 
nothing  about  him.  Do  you  know  how  much  is  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  Miss  Graham?" 

Again  no  answer  from  Helen.  She  sat  like  the  statue  of 
despair,  only  looking  at  his  face. 

"Well,  I  should  think  you  couldn't  tell  how  much  it  was,  for 
it's  a  great  deal  of  money.  Now,  Miss  Graham,  I  have  gone 
on,  holding  up  this  load  on  my  back,  till  I  don't  want  to  do  it 
any  longer,  unless  my  kindness  is  at  least  acknowledged  for 
something." 

Here  he  stopped,  and  looked  at  her. 

"  My  money  is  not  all  gone,  miss.  There  is  more  where  that 
came  from.  But  I  don't  feel  like  flinging  any  more  of  my  coin 
into  that  sink-hole  up  there  xm  the  hill,  without  there  is  some 
little  gratitude  shown  for  favors  past." 

Helen's  lips  moved. 

"  Is  my  father  ungrateful,  Mr.  Bloodstone  ?"  she  murmured. 

"  No,  Miss  Graham  ;  as  I  told  you  before,  he  is  not.  I  will 
give  the  devil  his  due  ;  he  is  not  ungrateful.  He  is  very  grate 
ful,  and  wants  things  to  go  a  little  to  please  me ;  but  it  is  his 
family  that  he  can't  control,  miss  ;  there  is  the  trouble.  He 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  185 

lacks  courage.  I've  told  him,  time  and  again,  to  come  do\\Ti 
here  and  be  a  man  in  his  own  house ;  to  kick  the  set  of  gam 
blers  and  stage-drivers  that  hang  about  his  door  into  the  street, 
and  put  gentlemen  into  their  places,  as  he  could  do  if  he  would 
try." 

The  fire  mounted  to  Helen's  face  now,  and  she  half-rose  from 
her  seat ;  her  cheeks  and  eyes  were  in  a  blaze,  but  it  was  only 
for  an  instant ;  and  then  she  sat  down  again,  and  the  same 
wan,  hopeless,  helpless  look  came  over  her.  What  could  she 
do  to  help  herself,  with  her  poor,  heart-broken  father,  as  she 
knew  too  well  he  was,  while  in  this  creature's  power. 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do,  Mr.  Bloodstone  ?  "  she  asked 
at  last,  and  in  a  sinking  voice. 

"  I  would  have  you  follow  your  father's  wishes.  He  knows 
what  is  good  for  you,  much  better  than  you  know  yourself,  — 
fathers  always  do.  You  are  very  young,  Miss  Graham,  and  don't 
know  the  ways  of  the  world.  In  a  new  country  like  this,  espe 
cially,  young  girls  never  know  what  is  best  for  them.  They 
should  always  obey  their  parents.  I  would  have  you  do  as 
your  father  wants  you  to  do." 

"  I  always  do  as  my  father  wishes  me  to  do,  Mr.  Bloodstone; 
I  always  have  obeyed  him,  and  always  intend  to  do  so.  But 
he  has  never  spoken  to  me  on  the  subject  to  which  you  refer. 
He  has  only  to  breathe  his  wishes,  and  I  am  ready  to  follow 
them." 

"  Are  you,  though  ?  "  asked  Bloodstone,  with  a  triumphant 
air.  "Well,  now,  that  is  pleasant  to  hear  ;  I  am  glad  to  see 
you  taking  a  sensible  and  prudent  view  of  things.  Will  you 
have  the  goodness  to  read  that  note,  Miss  Graham  ?  " 

Here  he  took  from  his  breast-pocket  a  letter-case,  and  from 
it  handed  Helen  a  note.  She  took  it  in  her  hand,  and  held  it 
a  moment ;  then  she  grew  more  than  ever  deathly  pale,  and  it 
slipped  from  her  fingers,  and  fell  upon  the  floor.  Bloodstone 
thought  she  was  going  to  faint,  and  made  a  movement  to  seek 
restoratives  ;  but  she  rallied,  and  made  an  effort  to  recover  the 
letter.  '  He  stooped,  and  picked  it  up  for  her. 

"  It  is  from  your  own  father,  Miss  Graham,  and  will  do  you 
no  harm." 

She  opened  it,  and  tried  to-  read,  but  a  mist  seemed  to  spread 
itself  over  the  page.  She  held  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes 
for  a  moment,  as  if  to  cool  them ;  then  she  read  the  letter, 
growing,  as  Bloodstone  could  see,  more  wretched  and  woe 
begone,  as  she  perused  it.  It  was  dated  ten  days  back,  and  was 


186  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

written  and  signed  by  her  father.  There  could  be  no  mistaking 
the  handvvritting.  Bloodstone  had  been  carrying  it  all  of  this 
time,  waiting  for  a  suitable  opportunity  to  deliver  it. 

"My  DARLING  DAUGHTER, — I  have  in  the  course  of  my 
past  troubles  come  under  great  financial  obligations  to  Mr. 
Bloodstone  ;  obligations  that,  at  the  time,  I  believed  I  should 
be  able  to  repay  in  kind.  In  this,  I  have  been  disappointed, 
as  I  have  been  disappointed  in  almost  everything  I  have  under 
taken.  These  favors  were  extended  by  him  to  me,  with  a  hope 
on  his  part,  understood  by  me  at  the  time,  that  by  doing  so  he 
might  possibly  win  your  good  opinion,  and  finally  your  love. 
I,  your  father,  ought  not  to  have  accepted  assistance  from 
Mr.  Bloodstone  under  such  circumstances ;  but  I  have  done  so, 
and  now  the  false  step  is  beyond  my  power  to  retrace.  For 
this  I  ask  your  pardon,  my  precious  child.  I  have  bitterly  re 
pented  it  from  the  moment  it  was  done,  and  beseech  you  not 
to  be  as  hard  with  me  as  I  know  I  deserve.  Mr.  Bloodstone 
has  proved  himself  to  be  an  honest  and  upright  man  ;  and  it  is 
your  father  who  has  been  guilty  of  an  injustice  that  closely  re 
sembles  a  fraud.  My  daughter,  I  cannot  ask  you  to  do  violence 
to  your  feelings,  whatever  they  may  be ;  but  if  you  can  consent 
to  give  your  hand  to  Mr.  Bloodstone,  you  will  have,  I  truly  be 
lieve,  a  good  husband,  and  will,  at  the  same  time,  save  your  al 
ready  ruined  father  from  the  additional  humiliation  of  what  he 
feels  to  be  a  merited  disgrace." 

The  room  grew  dark  when  the  wretched  girl  commenced  to 
grope  her  way  through  her  father's  letter.  It  was  as  if  a  cloud 
had  obscured  the  sun  ;  and  as  she  progressed,  a  mist  continual 
ly  floated  before  her  eyes  and  hid  the  lines.  She  stopped  and 
cooled  them  and  cleared  away  the  obscurity  with  her  handker 
chief,  pressing  it  against  them  from  time  to  time,  and  so  reading 
slowly  on  to  the  end.  But  even  when  it  was  finished,  she  could 
not  for  a  long  time  take  her  eyes  from  the  paper,  but  held  it  as  if 
still  reading.  She  could  not  realize  that  her  father,  her  dear, 
tender,  loving  father  had  written  such  a  letter  to  her.  But 
there  it  was,  in  her  hands,  before  her  throbbing  eyes.  It  could 
not  be  mistaken  or  misunderstood  ;  it  was  only  too  plain  and, 
clear.  Jephtha  had  vowed  a  vow,  and  his  only  daughter  had 
come  forth  from  the  doors  of  his  house  to  meet  him.  This  was 
the  sentence  for  her  death.  The  black  curtain  was  slowly  de 
scending  to  shut  out  from  her  eyes  the  fairy  island  of  her  dream, 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  187 

leaving  only  the  monster  in  the  foreground.  But,  desolate  as 
she  felt  her  heart  each  moment  growing,  she  never  once  doubted 
of  what  her  conduct  would  be.  Jephtha  had  spoken  and  could 
not  go  back ;  he  had  vowed  a  vow  and  he  should  do  unto  his 
darling  according  to  that  which  had  proceeded  out  of  his  mouth  ; 
when  the  altar  was  prepared  the  victim  should  surely  be  ready. 
She  folded  the  letter  slowly  up,  and  turned  to  Mr.  Bloodstone, 
but  without  speaking.  She  did  not  seem  to  be  willing  to  trust 
herself  with  words.  Observing  her  continued  silence,  the  su 
perintendent  spoke. 

"  Now  you  know  your  father's  wishes,  Miss  Graham,"  he  said, 
speaking  in  his  usual  harsh,  business  voice,  "  what  do  you  say 
to  it  ?  You  see  how  I  have  been  spending  my  money  just  like 
water  for  you.  till  I  can't  spend  any  more.  Now  I  have  begun 
to  inquire  around  to  know  when  my  turn  is  to  come.  I  don't 
feel  like  being  always  squeezed  by  the  Graham  family  like  a 
second-hand  lemon,  and  then  thrown  away  when  there  is  no 
more  juice  in  me.  So  I  have  stopped  just  to  inquire  what 
Bloodstone  is  going  to  get  by  all  of  this  outlay." 

Helen  listened  to  this  tirade,  spoken  in  a  blustering  manner, 
still  without  answering.  He  had  evidently  determined  to  carry 
things  with  a  high  hand. 

"You  have  read  your  father's  letter,  —  what  do  you  intend 
to  do  ?  "  he  asked,  rising,  and  walking  up  and  down  the  room. 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do,  Mr.  Bloodstone?"  she  asked, 
in  a  faint  voice,  scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

He  stopped  in  front  of  the  sofa  on  which  she  was  seated, 
and  looked  at  her.  Then  he  repeated  her  words. 

"  What  do  I  wish  you  to  do  ?  why,  you  know  well  enough. 
I  want  you  to  think  well  of  me,  —  to  like  me  ;  to  look  on  me 
as  a  friend,  you  know." 

All  this  was  said  hesitatingly,  as  if  leading  to  something  else. 

"  I  want  you  too,  to  love  me,  and  then  I  want  you  to  marry 
me.  That's  what  I  want ;  and  I  don't  think  there  is  anything 
wonderful  in  that,  after  the  money  I've  spent  for  you." 

And  here  Mr.  Bloodstone  resumed  his  walk,  repeating  the 
old  story  about  his  exertions  and  outlay  for,  and  on  behalf  of 
her  father,  and  how  and  why  he  had  made  the  expenditure  of 
time  and  money  from  the  commencement  to  the  end.  When 
he  had  finished,  he  again  stood  in  front  of  Helen. 

"  I  will  perform,"  she  said,  "  as  many  of  the  things  you  have 
asked  of  me  as  lies  within  my  power.  I  cannot  do  them  all,  — 
but  I  will  try,  since  it  appears  to  be  my  father's  wish." 


188  ROBERT  GREATPIOUSE. 

"  Will  you  ?"  he  asked  ;   "  what  part  of  them  will  you  do  ?  '' 

Helen  almost  choked  in  speaking ;  but  she  spoke  at  last,  and 
distinctly. 

"  I  will  marry  you,  Mr.  Bloodstone." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  I  will,"  she  said. 

"  Now  you  are  talking  like  a  sensible  girl,"  he  cried,  sitting 
hastily  down  in  his  chair,  "and  I  am  sure  we  shall  get  along 
splendidly.  And  we  are  engaged  to  be  married.  Isn't  it  splen 
did.  Give  me  a  kiss  on  that;"  and  he  put  his  face  towards 
hers  for  that  purpose. 

Helen  recoiled  as  though  from  the  approaching  head  of  some 
venomous  reptile  about  to  sting  her.  She  sprang  out  of  her 
seat  and  moved  away,  apparently  in  search  of  a  place  of  safe 
ty.  Turning  at  the  centre  of  the  room,  she  faced  about  with  a 
look  of  scorn  that  was  unutterable.  Bloodstone  thought  he 
had  never  seen  her  look  so  tall  by  three  inches,  and  his  eyes 
involuntarily  sought  the  floor  at  her  feet  to  ascertain  if  she  was 
not  standing  upon  some  elevated  point. 

"Mr.  Bloodstone,"  she  said,  "in  obedience  to  my  father's 
wishes,  I  have  told  you  that  I  will  marry  you.  Had  that  letter 
contained  a  request  from  him,  couched  in  similar  terms,  for  me 
to  throw  myself  from  that  window,  I  would  have  been  at  this 
moment  lying  lifeless  in  the  street." 

Here  she  approached  one  step  nearer  to  Enoch  Bloodstone, 
and  continued, — 

"  And  I  wish  that  had  been  its  contents  instead  of  a  mandate 
to  become  your  wife.  I  will  obey  my  father  and  marry  you, 
but,  until  that  time,  I  wish  to  see  as  little  of  you  as  possible. 
This  is  a  sacrifice  I  am  making  of  myself,  Mr.  Bloodstone,  and 
your  rights  will  commence  when  we  are  married.  Have  you 
any  thing  further  to  say  to  me,  sir." 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear,"  cried  Mr.  Bloodstone,  with  an  effort  to 
look  good-natured;  "haven't  you  got  your  back  up,  though. 
Don't  fret  yourself,  Miss  Graham ;  you  will  come  around  all 
right  in  time.  You  think  now  that  you  don't  like  it;  but  that's 
only  sentiment, —  that's  all, —  you  will  soon  come  out  of  that. 
All  girls  are  sentimental  at  your  age.  You'll  see  things  in  a 
different  light  when  you  are  married.  I  can  afford  to  wait  till 
you  come  to  your  senses." 

Helen  sat  down  in  her  chair  again  and  burst  into  tears.  Her1 
pride  had  blazed  out  for  a  moment,  and  now  the  flame  had  burnt 
down.  Her  gentle  nature  came  again  to  her,  and  she  saw  her 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  189 

own  woman's  helplessness  to  rescue  herself  from  the  fate  that 
had  so  remorselessly  swallowed  her  up. 

Enoch  Bloodstone  st6od  over  her  with  a  triumphant  smile. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bloodstone,"  she  said  at  last,  between  her  con 
vulsive  sobs,  "  pity  me  !  I  will  do  as  my  father  wishes  me  to 
do  —  as  you  wish  me  to  do.  I  am  not  disobedient.  But  I  do 
not  love  you.  I  cannot  love  you.  You  are  rich.  You  can 
marry  almost  whom  you  please.  Do  not  take  advantage  of  our 
misfortunes,  of  my  poor  father's  troubles,  to  force  me  to  wed 
you.  You  have  been  kind,  good,  generous,  noble  to  my  father. 
I  am  sure  you  have,  for  he  says  you  have.  Do  be  yourself 
once  more,  and  pity  a  poor  stricken  girl  that  is  at  your  feet," 
and  here  Helen  sank  upon  her  knees  and  held  her  hands  to 
wards  him  imploringly.  "  Do  not  force  her  to  a  marriage  that 
is  to  her  worse  than  death  itself.  I  will  be  grateful  to  you  as 
long  as  I  live  ;  only  be  generous  and  do  not  ask  me  to  become 
your  wife."  She  reached  out  her  hands  as  if  to  clasp  his  knees 
in  the  fervor  of  her  supplication,  seeing  which  he  stepped 
hastily  back,  causing  her  to  lose  her  balance,  and  she  fell  for 
ward  upon  her  face  on  the  floor. 

"  Come,  come  ! "  he  said,  in  his  harsh  way.  "  I  did  not 
come  here  to  hear  a  woman's  prayers,  nor  to  see  her  tears.  I 
am  here  on  business." 

Helen  at  this  rose  up,  as  well  as  she  could,  and  resumed  her 
place  on  the  sofa. 

"  I  came  here,  Miss  Graham,  with  a  letter  from  your  father, 
which  contained,  1  believe,  his  views  on  this  affair.  He  knows 
what  I  have  spent  already,  and  what  it  will  be  necessary  for  me 
to  spend  hereafter  to  pull  him  through  the  mine.  I  can  be  dis 
posed  of  by  just  two  words.  I  think  I  have  some  claim  on  the 
family,  some  little  claim  upon  you.  If  the  family  thinks  I  am 
wrong,  then  all  they  have  to  do  is  to  say  so  and  I  am  off  di 
rectly.  I  have  always  told  you  that  I  want  to  marry  you.  I 
am  not  a  sentimental  man,  but  a  business  man.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  blighted  hopes,  and  gloomy  future,  and  that  sort 
of  nonsense  that  school  girls  talk  so  much  about.  I  came  here 
as  a  single  man,  a  man  that  understands  business,  to  offer  mar 
riage  to  you.  It  so  happens  that  your  father  desires  you  to 
marry  me.  Well,  if  you  want  to  fall  into  your  father's  notions, 
all  you  have  to  do  is  to  say  so.  If  not,  why  in  ten  minutes  I 
will  be  up  at  the  office,  and  tell  him  that  his  daughter  has  ob 
jections  of  a  sentimental  nature  to  complying  with  his  wishes. 
Then  he  and  I  will  have  a  little  settlement  of  our  business  ac- 


190  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

counts,  and  there  the  matter  ends.  What  becomes  of  him  and 
his  debts  after  that  is  no  affair  of  mine.  You  know  that  I  will 
have  done  my  best  to  help  him,  and  will  have  failed  only  be 
cause  you  have  too  much  sentiment  to  aid  me  in  the  business." 
Here  he  took  his  hat  and  came  again  in  front  of  Helen.  "  Miss 
Graham,  I  am  now  going  to  the  mine,  and  would  like  to  be 
able  to  tell  your  father  just  how  matters  are  between  us.  I 
will  stand  by  him  in  his  troubles,  if  his  daughter  will  be  willing 
to  do  the  same.  His  fate  therefore  rests  with  you.  Will  you 
be  my  wife  — yes  or  no  ?  " 

"  I  told  you,  Mr.  Bloodstone,  before  that  I  would  be  your 
wife  if  it  was  my  father's  wish,  and  I  will  do  so." 

"  Very  good  !  Then  it  is  understood  between  us.  Good- 
afternoon,  Miss  Graham,"  and  he  walked  deliberately  to  the 
door  and  departed. 

Helen  rose  up  and  left  the  room,  but  not  to  go  to  her  mother. 
That  tender  heart  was  already  too  nearly  broken  to  undergo 
this  new  grief.  She  went  to  her  own  room  and  threw  herself 
upon  her  bed,  and  sobbed  for  half  an  hour  without  intermis 
sion.  Then  she  rose  and  dried  her  eyes  as  carefully  as  she 
could,  and  went  to  see  if  her  mother  needed  her  attention. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

JOY  IN  NO.  1 6,  AMERICAN  EAGLE  HOTEL. 

WHEN  Helen  again  entered  her  mother's  room  she  found  her 
sleeping.  But  the  sleep  of  invalids  is  seldom  deep.  She 
started  up  at  once,  and  spoke. 

"Is  that  you,  Baby?" 

"  Yes,  mother  dear." 

"  Where  have  you  been  for  so  long  a  time  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Bloodstone  remained  a  great  while,  mother,  and  has 
only  just  gone." 

"  Was  it  Mr.  Bloodstone  that  called,  darling  ?  I  thought  you 
said  that  it  was  Mr.  Stacey." 

"  No,  mamma,  I  did  not  say  so.     Mr.  Stacey  called  some 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  191 

time  before  Mr.  Bloodstone,  but  he  only  waited  a  fe  tv  minutes 
and  then  went  away.  Mr.  Bloodstone  has  been  in  the  parlor 
nearly  all  the  afternoon." 

Matilda  was  confused  in  her  mind,  and  could  not  just  under 
stand  it.  She  thought  that  Mr.  Stacey  had  been  with  her 
daughter,  and  told  her  that  he  loved  her. 

"  I  must  have  dreamed  it,"  she  thought,  "  but  it  was  a  beau 
tiful  dream  at  least."  Looking  hard  at  Helen  she  thought  that 
she  saw  a  change  in  her  appearance. 

"You  are  not  well,  Baby,"  she  said.  "Your  eyes  look  red 
and  your  cheeks  have  no  color ;  they  seem  like  wax.  What 
ails  you,  my  precious?" 

"  Nothing,  dear  mamma ;  what  puts  such  a  whim  in  your 
head  ?  I  was  never  better  in  my  life." 

"  I  fear  you  are  wasting  away  here,  darling,  watching  over 
your  mother.  You  do  not  take  the  air,  and  your  eyes  are  red 
as  if  you  had  been  weeping." 

"  No,  no,  mamma  ! "  answered  Helen,  with  an  air  of  affected 
gayety.  "  Mr.  Bloodstone  went  away  and  left  me  a  while  ago, 
and  I  have  been  sitting  at  my  window  ever  since  looking  at  the 
Sugar-loaf,  and  the  mountains  and  valleys  beyond,  till  I  have 
strained  them.  That  is  all.  Why,  I  never  do  such  a  foolish 
thing  as  to  cry.  I  am  a  woman  now,  you  know.  I  am  no 
longer  little  Helen.  You  are  so  much  in  the  habit  of  calling 
me  your  Baby  that  you  cannot  divest  yourself  of  the  idea  that  I 
am  still  an  infant." 

"  Ah,  dear,  it  is  just  that,"  answered  the  mother;  "it  is  be 
cause  you  are  a  woman  that  I  do  readily  suspect  you  of  having 
indulged  in  a  woman's  comfort  in  adversity  —  tears.  It  is  not 
children  that  weep,  but  women,  my  darling  Baby." 

"  Yes,  mother,  but  I  have  nothing  to  weep  about,  and  surely 
even  women  must  have  a  cause  before  the  tears  will  come  to 
them." 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  make  you  shed  tears,  Helen  ?  Then 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  keep  up  your  spirits  so  well,  for  it  ap 
pears  to  me  that  we  all  have  enough  to  make  us  cry  till  we  are 
blind." 

"  Ah,  no,  mother,  you  are  now  thinking  of  the  silver  lode  that 
will  be  stubborn  and  go  and  hide  itself  away  in  the  mountain  and 
not  come  out  and  yield  to  us  its  treasures.  But  that  will  soon 
come  all  right.  Mr.  Bloodstone  was  just  here  talking  about  it. 
I  am  quite  sure,  from  what  he  tells  me,  that  all  will  be  well  in 
the  end,  and  that  in  a  very  short  time." 


192  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  your  poor  father,  my  precious  Baby,  who 
is  so  changed  with  his  troubles  that  he  does  not  seem  to  me 
any  longer  to  be  the  dear  husband  he  once  was.  He  was  not 
always  so  grudging  of  his  smiles.  In  better  days  he  had  a  kind 
word  and  a  kiss  for  us  all  when  he  came  into  the  house,  and 
once  within  he  never  seemed  to  want' to  leave  it  again.  Now 
he  has  not  time  to  spend  a  moment  with  us,  except  the  few 
hours  he  spends  in  his  bed,  not  devoted  to  sleep,  for  he  never 
sleeps.  Why  does  he  not  share  his  sorrows  with  those  who  love 
him,  instead  of  keeping  the  secret  of  his  troubles  to  himself  as 
if  it  were  some  horrible  crime  ?  "  and  the  sorrowing  wife  and 
mother  burst  into  tears  and  turned  her  face  to  the  wall.  "  He 
does  not  love  us  any  more,  and  we  may  as  well  die  and  release 
him  from  the  trouble  of  providing  for  us." 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  cried  Helen,  throwing  her  arms  around  her 
mother,  "you  have  wholly  misunderstood  him;  he  does  love 
us  as  well  as  ever.  But  he  has  had  something  upon  his  mind 
for  a  long  time  past,that  he  could  not  tell  us  of  at  the  moment, 
but  which  he  will  soon  confide  to  us  freely.  This  secret  trouble 
that  has  been  upon  his  mind  has  now  been  all  overcome  and 
disposed  of.  It  will  trouble  him  no  more.  He  has  told  me  all 
about  it,  but  it  is  a  long  story,  and  concerns  chiefly  the  mine 
and  his  financial  embarrassments,  and  I  will  not  trouble  you 
with  it  to-day ;  but,  dear  mamma,  believe  me  that  it  is  all  as 
completely  past,  as  if  it  had  never  existed.  You  will  see  when  he 
comes  home  to  dinner,  if  he  is  not  quite  come  back  to  his  dear, 
old,  loving  self  again.  Now  don't  grieve,  dear,  darling,  sweet 
mother,  but  just  wait  till  he  comes  in  this  evening,  and  see  if  I 
have  not  told  you  the  truth." 

The  invalid  was  comforted  with  this  assurance,  and  dried  her 
tears. 

"  I  will  sit  here  by  the  window,"  said  Helen,  "  and  watch  for 
him  as  he  comes  along  the  street.  It  is  almost  time  for  him  to 
be  home  ;  "  and  she  sat  down,  but  only  to  wait  a  minute,  when 
she  saw,  as  she  expected,  her  father  coming  slowly  from  the 
direction  of  the  mine.  "Here  he  is,  mamma;  I  knew  he 
would  come  soon,  and  he  sees  me,  and  is  already  smiling  and 
throwing  me  a  kiss.  Oh,  he  is  himself  again,  as  I  told  you  he 
would  be." 

That  her  father  had  seen  her  and  thrown  her  a  kiss,  was  an 
invention  of  Helen's,  for  he  was  coming  slowly,  with  his  head 
down,  as  if  buried  beneath  a  great  load  of  sorrow. 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  193 


ftn 


"  I  will  run  and  meet  him  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  ;  "  and 
she  tripped  away,  as  if  she  was  the  happiest  creature  in  the 
world. 

As  she  passed  through  the  door,  she  warbled  a  measure  of 
some  popular  air  so  joyously,  that  her  mother  turned  her  head 
and  looked  after  her,  and  thought  of  her  dream  about  Henry 
Stacey  telling  her  Baby  that  he  loved  her.  But  she  could  not 
keep  up  the  song.  It  died  in  her  throat  as  she  passed  into  the 
hall,  and  when  she  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs  she  could 
barely  summon  a  faint  smile  to  greet  her  approaching  father. 
But  this  was  indeed  a  surprise  to  him.  He  could  scarcely  be 
lieve  his  eyes.  Observing  his  wondering  expression,  she  made 
an  effort,  and  more  completely  imposed  upon  him. 

"  Oh  dear  papa,"  she  cried,  dancing  and  clapping  her  hands, 
"  we  are  so  glad  you  have  come  home  early,  we  have  so  many 
things  to  tell  you.  We  have  had  letters  from  Blanche  Mclver, 
and  from  everybody  that  we  love ;  come  in  quickly  and  read 
them." 

And  she  took  his  hand  in  hers,  and  passed  her  arm  round  his 
waist,  and  led  him  to  the  door.  But  before  entering  the  room, 
she  stopped  him,  and  said,  — 

"  Dear  papa,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  all  long  ago  ?  Why 
did  you  not  tell  me  before,  that  you  wished  me  to  marry  Mr. 
Bloodstone  ?  If  you  had  done  so,  it  would  have  saved  you  and 
all  of  us  a  world  of  trouble.  I  am  very  happy  to  be  able  to 
help  you;"  and  here  her  voice  trembled  just  a  little ;  "espe 
cially,  as  I  assure  my  own  happiness  at  the  same  time." 

Mr.  Graham  looked  hard  at  his  daughter  for  a  moment.  He 
could  not  believe  his  ears. 

"  Helen,"  he  asked,  "  will  this  marriage  make  you  happy?" 

"  Yes,  dear  papa,"  she  answered,  "it  will  make  me  very,  very 
happy  indeed  ;  "  and  she  kissed  her  father  on  both  cheeks. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  "  I  thought  you  did 
not  love  Mr.  Bloodstone  ;  indeed,  I  thought  that  you  could  not 
endure  him,  —  so  you  told  me  once." 

"Oh,  yes,  dear  papa;  but  that,  you  know,  was.  long  ago, 
before  he  had  been  so  good  and  kind  to  you,  and  before  I  knew 
him  so  well  as  I  do  now.  I  wa,s  a  foolish,  young  thing  then, 
full  of  all  sorts  of  girlish  notions  got  from  novels  and  poems, 
and  I  did  not  know  what  was  best  for  me.  But  I  hope,  dear 
papa,  that  I  have  outgrown  all  such  nonsense  now  j  don't 
you  ?  "  she  asked,  patting  his  cheek. 


194  ROBERT   GREATHOUS2. 

"  Helen,"  he  said,  "tell  me  truly,  do  you  say  that  you  love 
Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone  ?  " 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  the  haze  carne  before  her  eyes 
once  more.  The  black  drop-curtain  of  her  dream  slowly  sank 
down  before  her ;  and  as  it  fell,  all  the  bright  day-dreams,  the 
hopes  and  the  joys  of  a  sweet  girlhood,  its  meadows  and  lakes, 
its  green  trees  and  purling  brooks,  were  one  by  one  shut  out 
from  her;  at  last  the  fairy  island,  the  spreading  palms,  and 
fragrant  flowers  were  gone,  and  all  was  black  and  desolate. 

"  Yes,  papa,"  she  answered  slowly  and  deliberately,  "  I  love 
him." 

Mr.  Graham  gazed  a  moment  at  his  daughter,  while  he 
stroked  her  beautiful  yellow  hair ;  then,  with  a  long  sigh,  he 
stooped  down  and  kissed  her  forehead,  and  they  went  in  to 
gether. 

"  See,  dear  mamma,"  she  cried,  running  ahead  of  her  father, 
and  pulling  him  into  her  mother's  room,  "  here  he  is,  happy 
and  gay,  as  in  old  times.  It  is  all  over  now.  The  secret  is 
out,  and  it  has  not  been  so  terrible,  after  all." 

Mr.  Graham  embraced  his  wife  affectionately,  as  she  stood 
at  the  side  of  the  bed  whence  she  had  risen  in  her  joy  at  hear 
ing  his  footsteps. 

"What  is  the  secret,  Edmond?"  she  asked.  "Helen  says 
that  you  have  had  a  secret  grief  that  she  has  discovered,  and 
which  you  had  concealed  from  us.  We  have  observed  your 
changed  manner  of  late,  and  have  both  been  anxious  about 
you.  What  have  you  had  on  your  mind,  my  love  ?  Tell 
me!" 

Mr.  Graham  did  not  answer;  he  seemed  unable  to  speak, 
from  surprise  or  agitation. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  dear  mamma  :  I  have  had  a  suitor  for  a  * 
long  time,  —  a  suitor,  about  whom  papa  has  been  very  uneasy, 
not  knowing  just  what  the  gentleman's  intentions  were,  nor 
what  were  my  own  wishes.  Well,  now  it  is  all  over.  The 
gentleman  has  called  to  see  me ;  has  proposed,  and  been  ac 
cepted." 

"  What,  Helen  !  "  cried  Matilda,  in  astonishment,  "  have  you 
accepted  an  offer  of  marriage  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mamma,  I  am  now  engaged  to  be  married  to  Mr. 
Enoch  Bloodstone." 

Poor  Helen  seemed  to  be  anxious  to  get  the  secret  out  as  soon 
as  possible  ;  she  did  not  even  wait  for  her  mother's  next  and 
natural  question,  as  to  who  the  affianced  lover  was.  It  was  as 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  195 

though  she  were  in  dread  that  her  own  resolution  would  fail 
her,  if  she  did  not  have  more  witnesses  to  the  engagement. 

"  To  Enoch  Bloodstone  !  "  groaned  her  mother.  "  To  that 
man  !  Helen,  are  you  going  to  marry  that  creature  ?  " 

"  Why,  mamma,  you  sha'n't  talk  so  about  my  future  husband; 
now  don't." 

Mr.  Graham  had  stood  all  of  this  time  in  complete  silence, 
and  even  now  he  could  not  summon  courage  to  speak. 

"  O  Baby  ! "  cried  her  mother,  bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears, 
with  her  face  to  Helen's  bosom,  "  are  you  going  to  marry  Mr. 
Bloodstone  ?  " 

She  could  say  no  more  for  several  minutes,  but  continued 
sobbing  upon  her  daughter's  breast.  At  last,  she  made  an 
effort. 

"  Pardon  your  poor,  weak,  foolish  mother  for  speaking  in  this 
manner  about  your  future  husband  ;  it  is  only  my  weakness, 
darling  Baby,"  she  said ;  "  perhaps  I  should  have  done  in  the 
same  way,  no  matter  to  whom  you  had  been  engaged.  Perhaps 
it  is  the  idea  of  your  marrying  at  all  that  grieves  me.  Do  you 
love  Mr.  Bloodstone,  darling  ?  "  she  said  at  last. 

"  Yes,  dear  mamma,  of  course  I  do,  or  I  should  never  have 
accepted  him." 

"  Well,  then,  dear,  forgive  me,  and  God  grant  that  you  may 
be  happy  in  your  marriage  ;  "  and  Matilda  kissed  her  daughter, 
and  blessed  her.  "  Help  me  to  dress,  Baby,  and  I  will  go  with 
you  into  the  parlor." 

"  Yes,  dear  mamma,  do  come  with  us  into  the  parlor,  and  let 
us  be  happy  once  more." 

Matilda  was  soon,  by  Helen's  assistance,  prepared  to  rise. 
They  went  into  the  parlor,  and  as  it  was  growing  dark  they 
lighted  the  lamps. 

"  Let  us  all  dine  in  our  own  room  together,  instead  of  going 
down  to  the  public  table,"  cried  Helen  ;  "it  will  be  a  regular 
celebration  of  my  engagement." 

It  was  agreed  to,  though  the  matter  was  no  easy  one  to  ac 
complish.  In  Western  hotels,  the  habit  of  all  dining  at  one 
table,  in  public,  is  so  thoroughly  established,  that  each  infringe 
ment  of  the  rule  is  a  domestic  revolution  in  itself.  The  servants 
are  always  kept  down  to  a  number  so  low,  that  no  experiment 
can  be  made  without  throwing  the  whole  machinery  of  the 
house  out  of  order.  But  Helen  was  such  a  general  favorite  with 
all  the  servants  in  the  hotel,  up-stairs  and  down,  that  she  man 
aged  the  matter  with  wonderful  success.  The  cook  was  soon 


196  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

conciliated  when  told  that  the  golden-haired  beauty  of  No.  16 
desired  it,  and  said  that  she  should  have  the  best  dinner  that 
could  be  had  in  the  town. 

While  this  matter  was  under  discussion,  the  stage  from  over 
the  mountains  was  heard  to  drive  up  to  the  main  door  of  the 
hotel,  and  directly  after,  the  heavy  steps  of  Jack  Gowdy  came 
tramping  along  the  hall. 

"  Good-luck  to  all  here,"  he  cried,  bursting  open  the  door, 
and  pushing  it  in  with  his  foot.  "  There  is  something  for  you, 
Miss  Helen,"  said  he,  setting  down  a  rough  willow  hamper 
that  was  as  much  as  he  could  hold  in  his  arms  ;  "  that,  I  should 
judge,  would  be  likely  to  make  your  eyes  stick  out,  when  you 
come  to  see  it." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Jack,"  cried  Helen,  rushing  up,  and  seizing 
him  by  the  hand.  "  What  have  you  brought  for  me  now,  you 
dear  old  fellow  ?  " 

'  He  removed  the  cover  of  the  hamper,  and  held  up  by  the 
head  an  immense  fish,  so  long  that  its  tail  trailed  upon  the  floor, 
while  its  head  was  as  high  as  Jack's  waist. 

"There,"  said  he,  "that,  I  reckon,  is  the  finest  trout  that 
ever  came  out  of  honest  old  John  Bigler's  lake  ;  if  it  isn't,  then 
call  me  a  blue-bellied  Yankee,  or  a  Chinaman,  or  a  Digger 
Injin,  at  your  own  free  will  and  choice." 

"A  Lake  Bigler  trout!"  cried  Helen;  "where  did  you  get 
him,  Jack  ?" 

"Well,  miss,"  said  the  stage-driver,  sitting  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  hamper,  "  I  was  driving  along  the  shore  of  the  lake,  pretty 
lively,  coming  down,  when  I  saw  an  Injin  struggling  with  this 
fellow,  in  the  water.  He  had  him  on  the  end  of  his  spear  and 
it  was  a  pretty  tight  struggle  betwixt  them.  Well,  I  just  stopped 
to  see  how  the  thing  would  terminate,  not  that  I  cared  particular 
which  way,  but  just  to  see  the  fun.  The  red-skin  got  the  best 
of  the  fight,  and  fetched  the  minnow  ashore.  My  first  impulse, 
of  course,  was  just  to  take  down  my  six-shooter,  buy  the  fish  on 
the  spot,  and  settle  with  the  savage  by  sending  a  bullet  through 
his  midriff.  Well,  miss,  if  I'd  intended  that  trout  for  my  own 
eating,  that's  just  what  I'd  have  done." 

•l  Oh  !  Jack,  how  could  you  ?"  interposed  Helen. 

"Well.  I  didn't,"  he  continued,  "and  I  didn't,  just  because  I 
thought  of  fetching  it  to  you,  and  I  know'd  you  had  scruples  on 
that  point,  which,  not  knowing  red-skins  as  I  do,  is  only  natural 
for  you  to  have.  So  I  put  up  my  fire-arms  and  bought  that  fish 
for  a  dollar,  though  it  wasn't  worth,  honestly,  but  four  bits.  So 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  197 

much,  you  see,  for  people's  prejudices.  I  allowed  that  Injin  to 
go  on  in  his  depredations,  and  I  suppose  he  will  pay  me  by  run 
ning  me  over  the  bank  some  night,  or  scalping  me  the  first  time 
he  catches  me  outside  of  the  settlements." 

"  I  hope  not,  Jack,"  said  Helen  ;  "it  would  be  a  cruel  recom 
pense  for  your  kindness." 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Graham,"  said  the  stage-driver,  address 
ing  that  gentleman  for  the  first  time  ;  "how  does  the  mine  get- 
on  ?  Have  you  struck  pay-rock  yet  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  Jack,"  he  answered,  "but  we  hope  to  do  so  now 
very  soon." 

"Mining  is  an  awful  treacherous  business,  Mr.  Graham,  in 
all  respects.  I  sometimes  think  that  nature  never  intended 
mankind  to  excavate  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  The  ground 
never  deceives  a  man  who  stays  outside  of  it.  The  farmer  can 
always  depend  upon  it  to  bring  him  crops  of  the  same  sort  thai 
he  puts  in,  and  stage-drivers  never  fail  to  find  hard  ground 
somewhere  under  them  when  they  drive  horses  over  it.  But, 
when  you  get  inside  of  it,  then  it's  treacherous.  It's  only  the 
bowels  of  the  earth  that  ever  cheats  a  man.  He  can't  be  always 
sure  of  a  grave  under  the  ground,  when  he  is  dead.  The 
Indians,  if  they  can  get  hold  of  you  out  here  on  the  plains,  just 
burn  you  up  in  a  grease-wood  fire,  and  your  ashes  are  scattered 
to  the  winds.  You  can't  depend,  even,  on  getting  under  the 
ground  to  be  buried,  it's  so  treacherous.  Where  are  you  dig 
ging  now,  Mr.  Graham  ?  " 

"We  are  about  to  finish  work  in  the  fifth  level,  and,  if  we  do 
not  make  any  discoveries,  will,  in  a  few  days,  sink  again  and 
try  a  sixth  still  lower." 

"That's  odd,"  said  Jack,  musingly,  "everybody  has  struck 
it  on  the  Com  stock  but  you." 

"Yes,  nearly  all,  Jack." 

"  And  you  haven't  got  a  sign  ?  " 

"No,  not  yet." 

"  Has  that  other  mine  in  front  of  you  found  anything?" 

"  The  Pactolus  ?  " 

"Yes,  the  Pactolus,  — that  big  San  Francisco  man's  mine." 

"  No,  not  yet,  that  I  have  heard  of." 

"Well,  that  is  curious,"  said  Jack,  musingly;  "maybe  you 
don't  change  your  people  often  enough.  You  know  those  old 
miners  never  allow  the  same  people  around  more  than  a  month 
or  so  at  a  time.  They  change  'em,  you  know." 

"Yes,  Jack,  that  they  do,  and  very  unjustly.     It  is  wrong  to 


198  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

throw  men  out  of  employment  on  the  bare  suspicion  of  dishon 
esty.  Besides,  I  know  my  people  to  be  honest." 

"Whew,"  whistled  Jack,  "you  know  your  people  to  be  "hon 
est.  This  thing  looks  worse  than  I  thought.  Why,  sir,  you 
ought  to  be  turned  over  to  the  public  administration.  You 
need  a  guardian  ;  indeed  you  do.  You  need  one  badly." 

Mr.  Graham  smiled  at  Jack's  outburst. 

"  Do  you  think  so?"  he  asked,  pleasantly. 

"Why,  I  don't  think  anything  about  it.  I  know  it.  Why, 
sir,  those  fellows  will  steal  the  hair  off  of  your  head  There  isn't 
anything  on  top  of  ground  that  them  mining  superintendents  and 
directors  won't  steal,  or,  if  there  is,  it's  because  they  haven't 
heard  of  it  and  don't  know  where  it  is.  As  soon  as  they  do 
hear  of  it,  they  will  go  for  it  quick  enough.  You  bet  your  life 
they  will.  Why,  sir,  a  mining  director,  or  a  superintendent,  and 
it's  all  the  same,  would  steal  the  acorns  from  a  blind  hog.  So 
you  just  look  out.  They  would  steal  the  whole  Territory  of 
Washoe,  if  they  could  get  their  claws  under  it  once.  They 
would  just  lift  it  clear  off  the  hooks  and  run  away  with  it.  Take 
my  advice  and  change  your  managers,  change  your  foremen, 
change  your  engineers,  change  everybody ;  and  do  it  often.  Do 
it  at  least  every  Saturday  night,  regular.  Your  miners,  you  can 
turn  out  in  squads  of  a  quarter  or  so  at  at  a  time,  through  the 
week,  as  you  can  get  fresh  ones.  If  you  don't,  they  will  first 
steal  your  mine,  and  when  that  is  gone,  they  will  come  back 
and  steal  you.  Yes,  they  will,  sir,  they  will  clean  you  out  as 
clean  as  a  shot-gun.  I  hope  you'll  like  the  fish,  Miss  Helen." 

"Yes,  Jack,  I  have  already  sent  it  to  the  kitchen  to  have  it 
cooked  for  dinner." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,"  said  Jack.     "  Good-night,  miss." 

Helen's  apparent  good  spirits  had  completely  imposed  upon 
her  father.  He  had  no  doubt  that  she  had  come  into  the  en 
gagement  with  Bloodstone  willingly.  It  is  true,  it  greatly  sur 
prised  him.  He  had  formed  altogether  a  different  opinion  of 
her  tastes,  but  he  thought  to  himself,  women  are  riddles,  insolv- 
able,  and  always  have  been  from  the  beginning  of  the  world. 
Besides,  he  reasoned,  during  the  time  she  has  been  at  the  hotel, 
Bloodstone  has  spent  much  of  his  time  with  her,  and  who  knows 
how  agreeable  he  may  have  been  able  to  make  himself. 

Though,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  he  would  have  pre 
ferred  that  his  daughter  should  have  married  a  man  more  nearly 
her  equal  in  mind  as  well  as  in  education ;  still,  the  great  point 
of  her  own  wishes  being  provided  for,  was  accomplished ;  and 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  199 

Bloodstone,  as  the  world  went,  was  not  such  a  bad  match,  after 
all.  He  was,  at  least,  a  man  of  fortune,  and  if  Helen  was  satis 
fied,  of  course  her  family  must  be  so.  But  poor  Matilda  was 
not  so  easily  reconciled ;  she  could  not  understand  it.  Women 
know  each  other  better  than  men  can  understand  them.  She 
felt  that  Bloodstone  could  never  be  a  companion  for  Helen, 
and  she  could  not  see  how  her  daughter  had  brought  herself 
to  think  he  could  be.  But  by  the  time  dinner  came  and 
was  served  in  the  parlor,  the  wonder  of  the  thing  was  already 
passing  from  the  minds  of  the  parents,  and  they  were  already 
beginning  to  accept  it  as  a  fact,  even  if  they  could  not  quite 
bring  themselves  to  rejoice  at  their  daughter's  engagement. 
Helen  had,  from  the  first,  stipulated  that  the  intended  mar 
riage  was  to  be  kept  a  secret  in  the  family.  No  one  was  to 
know  of  it  except  the  parties  immediately  interested.  This 
was  to  be  enjoined  upon  Mr.  Bloodstone  in  the  morning,  she 
said,  as  soon  as  he  was  seen,  she  having  forgotten  to  mention 
it  to  him  at  the  time  of  the  engagement.  Her  reason  foi 
this,  was  their  peculiar  situation  at  the  hotel,  where  they  knew 
no  one.  "  To  tell  it,"  she  said,  "  is  but  to  gratify  the  curiosity 
of  gaping  strangers,  who  do  not  know  or  care  for  us  or  our 
plans  of  life.  Had  we  friends,  who  would  rejoice  at  our  good 
or  ill  fortune,  who  would  make  merry  when  we  make  merry, 
and  mourn  when  we  mourn,  we  might  wish  to  have  their  par 
ticipation  in  this  happy  event.  But  we  have  not,  and  we  will 
keep  it  secret."  In  the  course  of  the  dinner,  all  of  this  was 
settled  upon.  If  Mr.  Graham  saw  Bloodstone  first  in  the 
morning,  he  was  to  mention  this  matter  of  detail,  but  if  he 
came  to  the  rooms  first,  then  Helen  was  to  do  so.  When 
dinner  was  over,  Helen  went  to  the  piano,  and  played  and  sang 
for  her  father  and  mother.  Charley  Hunter  came  in  and 
turned  the  music  for  her.  The  boy  had  become  a  favorite  in  the 
family;  Helen  always  called  him  her  little  beau.  He  was  a 
manly  lad,  of  good  temper  and  gentle  breeding.  The  discus 
sion  of  the  proposed  marriage  had  been  finished  when  he 
entered,  and  was  not  referred  to  in  his  presence.  Helen  sang 
all  of  her  old  music,  even  to  her  little  baby  songs  and  nursery 
rhymes  that  not  been  heard  before  in  the  Graham  family  circle 
since  the  time  when  it  had  been  all  together  by  the  banks  of 
the  Delaware.  The  father  and  mother  sat  on  the  sofa  hand  in 
hand.  Matilda  was  almost  herself  again  ;  she  had  now  her 
husband  back  to  her  heart  once  more,  and  the  invalid  felt 
health  again  blooming  in  her  cheeks.  At  times,  but  only  for  a 


200  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

moment,  tears  of  joy  would  course  down  her  cheeks.  But 
then  she  would  remember  that  it  was  Enoch  Bloodstone  who 
had  won  the  prize  she  thought  so  precious,  and  a  shudder  of 
dismay  would  run  through  her  delicate  frame.  She  could  not 
reconcile  herself  to  the  man,  and  the  fact  that  her  daughter  had 
chosen  him,  was  to  her  an  inexplicable  mystery.  How  could 
she  love  that  man  ?  that  disagreeable,  that  vulgar  man  ?  she 
asked  herself.  Had  there  been  anything  savoring  of  regret  or 
unwillingness  in  Helen's  manner,  her  mother  wrould  have  sus 
pected  her  secret,  that  she  was  being  wedded,  not  won.  But 
was  she  not  sitting  at  the  piano  at  that  moment  singing  Robin 
Adair,  and  singing  it  as  her  mother  thought  none  save  her  dar 
ling  daughter  and  the  angels  above  could  sing  it,  and  without  a 
sigh,  a  tear,  or  the  dropping  of  a  note?  Was  it  in  the 
power  of  her  daughter  to  sing  Robin  Adair  without  showing 
some  signs  of  woe,  if  any  were  concealed  in  her  heart  ?  If 
a  stone  lay  at  the  bottom  of  her  soul,  the  music  of  the 
plaintive  old  song  would  surely  move  it,  and  a  bubble  would 
rise  to  the  surface,  and  betray  the  spot.  She  watched  her 
darling, — her  bosom  and  her  eyes, — but  no  sign  came.  The 
song  was  ended ;  Charley  Hunter  withdrew,  and  Helen  came 
and  sat  between  them  on  the  sofa. 

"  Dear  papa,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand,  "  when  Mr.  Blood 
stone  asks  me  to  fix  the  day  for  our  marriage,  which  I  suppose 
he  will  do  the  next  time  he  calls,  I  think  I  would  prefer 
to  have  it  at  as  early  a  day  as  possible.  We  are  such  stran 
gers  here,  that  no  preparations  will  be  necessary.  You  know  a 
contemplated  marriage  is  always  such  a  grand  event  in  a 
house,  that  it  takes  entire  possession,  to  the  exclusion  of 
all  other  matters.  Nothing  else  can  ever  be  thought  of  till 
that  is  out  of  the  way ;  and  I  think  it  would  be  well  to  have 
it  over  and  done  with,  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Wiry,  our  Baby  is  anxious  to  leave  us,"  interposed  the 
mother. 

Helen  started  as  if  a  sudden  pain  had  shot  througn  her  heart. 

"Leave  you,"  she  said;  "no,  mamma,  I  shall  not  leave 
you;  I  shall  not  consent  to  that;"  and  then,  after  a  moment's 
consideration,  she  added,  "I  don't  think  Mr.  Bloodstone  will 
want  me  to  leave  you.  I  certainly  shall  not  do  it,  if  he  does 
wish  it." 

"Once  married,  my  darling,  you  are  no  longer  mistress  of 
yourself.  You  can't  tell  what  you  will  do." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  Mr.  Bloodstone  will  not  ask  that,  mother," 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  201 

replied  Helen,  firmly ;  "  at  least,  not  while  you  remain  in 
infirm  health.  But  do  not  let  us  think  of  that,  mamma,"  she 
cried  gayly;  "this  evening  was  devoted  to  celebrating  the 
engagement,  and  we  will  not  think  of  the  dark  side  of  matri 
mony,  if  it  has  such  a  side.  It  is  now  time  to  go  to  bed.  To 
morrow,  we  will  talk  of  the  details ;  so  good-night,  papa  and 
mamma." 

They  kissed  their  daughter,  and  she  withdrew  to  her  own 
room.  She  fled  from  them,  for  she  felt  that  she  was  no  longei 
equal  to  her  task.  Each  moment,  a  sinking  sensation  in  hei 
breast  admonished  her  that  if  she  remained  longer  in  the  pres 
ence  of  her  father  and  mother,  all  would  be  betrayed.  She 
softly  turned  the  key  in  her  door,  and  reaching  her  bed,  man 
aged  to  lay  herself  down.  She  could  not  undress,  but  lay 
moaning  upon  the  outside  of  the  bed.  Even  tears  would  not 
now  come  to  her  relief;  and  so  she  passed  the  night.  In  the 
morning,  Helen  rose  at  the  usual  time  ;  she  had  not  slept ; 
she  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass,  and  saw  that  she  was  fearfully 
haggard.  She  sat  down  for  a  moment,  upon  her  chair,  and 
reflected.  This  will  not  do,  she  thought ;  I  must  perform 
my  duty.  If  my  poor  mother  suspects  that  I  am  not  happy, 
it  will  kill  her ;  and  my  father ;  what  will  become  of  him  ?  She 
made  a  fresh  resolve,  bathed  her  face  and  temples,  adjusted 
her  dress,  and  went  to  see  her  mother. 

"Good-morning,  mamma,"  she  said,  pleasantly,  and  kissed 
her. 

"  Helen,  you  look  wretched ;  you  have  not  slept,  dear.  Are 
you  not  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  dear  mother ;  but  an  engagement  to  marry  is  a  very 
serious  matter,  you  know ;  and  I  fear  that  I  have  allowed  it  to 
keep  me  awake.  Did  you  sleep  the  first  night  of  your  engage 
ment  to  papa  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  laugh. 

"No,  dear,  I  did  not;  but  I  don't  think  the  loss  of  sleep 
affected  me  as  it  appears  to  be  affecting  you." 

"I  suppose  Iain  foolish  to  think  so  much  of  it.  Everybody 
must  be  married  some  time ;  and  why  not  I  ?  Has  papa  been 
gone  long  ?  " 

"Yes,  Baby;  he  has  been  away  an  hour.  He  thinks  of 
nothing  but  the  mine,  and  cannot  endure  to  be  away  from  it 
a  moment." 

At  ten  o'clock,  Mr.  Bloodstone  called.  Helen  was  alone. 
She  received  him  politely,  but  coldly. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear,  Miss  Graham,  from  your  father,  of  what  I 


202  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

take  to  be  a  disposition  on  your  part  to  come  down  to  the 
surface  of  the  earth  once  more.  You  were  altogether  in  the 
clouds  when  I  was  here  yesterday." 

"  If  by  coming  down  to  the  surface  of  the  earth,  you  refer  to 
my  intension  to  obey  the  wishes  of  my  father  in  marrying  you, 
Mr.  Bloodstone,  I  have  never  left  it  for  a  single  moment ;  I  have 
always  expected  to  do  as  he  wished  in  the  matter.  I  told  you 
so  yesterday." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Graham,  but  your  father  brings  me  the  very 
agreeable  intelligence,  that  I  am  not  only  to  possess  your  hand, 
but  that  I  have  also  the  greater  bliss  of  having  won  your  heart 
also.  That  was  something  I  had  not  counted  upon  quite  so 
soon,  though  I  had  always  known  it  would  come  in  time." 

"  Mr.  Bloodstone,  don't  let  us  deceive  each  other.  It  appears 
that  we  are  to  be  married.  When  that  event  comes,  I  shall  try 
to  do  my  duty  as  a  wife,  as  I  now  try  to  do  it  as  a  daughter. 
I  do  not  love  you,  and  if  I  dared  to  give  expression  to  a  feeling 
which  towards  an  intended  husband  I  feel  to  be  wicked,  I 
should  say  that  I  hate  you,  that  I  detest  and  despise  you,  but 
I  will  not  say  that  I  do,  and  I  will  try  not  to  do  it.  1  shall 
marry  you  because  you  have  contrived  to  compel  me  to  marry 
you.  You  have  obtained  such  a  hold  upon  my  father  that  he 
asks  it  of  me,  and  has  caused  me  to  think  that  his  honor,  which 
to  him  is  his  life,  depends  upon  this  sacrifice.  I  have  pretended 
to  my  parents  that  I  love  you.  I  have  done  this  for  many 
reasons.  I  think  it  my  duty  to  do  it,  and  above  all  things 
because  my  precious  mother  is  failing  in  her  health  day  by  day 
under  the  load  of  our  troubles,  and  because  I  think  the  knowl 
edge  of  this  new  grief  would  kill  her  ;  but  understand  me,  Mr. 
Bloodstone,  I  marry  you  because  my  father  wishes  it.  He 
must  give  me  away  at  the  altar.  Should  he  see  cause  to  with 
draw  his  consent  between  this  time  and  the  day  of  our  marriage,  I 
shall  not  consider  myself  bound ;  you  have  wooed  me  through 
him,  and  you  must  retain  his  good-will,  at  least,  until  the  cere 
mony  is  completed." 

"Well,  well,"  he  answered,  "it  is  pleasant  to  have  a  full  un 
derstanding  on  such  matters  ;  that  is  what  I  call  business,  and 
that  I  always  like.  I  know  that  when  you  are  married  you 
will  love  me,  and  I  can  afford  to  wait.  I  don't  marry  you  for 
love ;  I  marry  you  because  you  are  the  handsomest  woman 
that  ever  was  in  this  country,  and  every  one  knows  it.  I  want 
to  show  that  I  can  get  a  fine  woman  as  well  as  other  men. 
That's  my  hand." 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  203 

To  this  Helen  made  no  reply.  "One  thing,  Mr.  Blood 
stone,  I  stipulate  for ;  our  engagement  is  to  be  kept  a  secret 
till  the  moment  of  marriage,  and  the  marriage  itself  is  to  be 
strictly  private  ;  my  father  and  two  witnesses,  are  alone  to  be 
present." 

"  Well,  I  see  no  particular  objection  to  that,"  he  answered. 
"When  can  I  hope  to  have  the  happy  event  come  off?" 

"That  I  will  decide  upon  to-day,"  she  answered,  "with  my 
mother.  Do  not  fear,  Mr.  Bloodstone,  it  will  be  soon  enough. 
Any  procrastination  that  I  might  ask  for  and  obtain,  would  only 
cause  my  parents  to  doubt  my  willingness  to  marry  you,  and  I 
have  resolved  that  they  shall  never  have  that  additional  sorrow 
to  bear.  It  will  take  place  much  sooner  than  I  would  think 
of  consenting  to,  were  the  marriage  one  of  my  own  choice. 
Are  you  satisfied,  Mr.  Bloodstone  ?  " 

"  I  would  be  very  hard  to  please,  if  I  were  not,"  he  answered. 

"  Very  well,  sir,  then  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me,  for  I  must 
go  to  my  mother ;  good-morning,  sir." 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Graham,"  he  said,  and  took  himself 
away. 

Helen  rang  the  bell,  and  set  about  giving  directions  for  the 
morning  repast  of  the  invalid. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

AN  OLD  LOVER  IS  SENT  ABOUT  HIS  BUSINESS. 

THE  heavy  task  of  Helen  Graham  was  only  in  part  accom 
plished,  when  she  had  convinced  her  father  and  her  mother  that 
she  was  happy  in  her  engagement  to  Enoch  Bloodstone. 
There  was  another  and  more  terrible  ordeal  for  her  widowed 
heart  to  pass  through.  Henry  Stacey  was  yet  to  be  answered, 
and  his  visit  was  due  at  any  moment.  Once,  and  no  long 
time  ago,  she  could  have  met  him  proudly,  and  could  have  told 
him  in  cold  and  measured  terms,  that  she  had  bestowed  herself 
upon  a  gentleman  who  had  payed  her  the  compliment  of  offer 
ing  his  heart  and  hand.  She  could  have  even  added  with  lofty 


204  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

hauteur,  that  that  gentleman  was  Enoch  Bloodstone.  But 
that  time  was  past.  Since  then,  Henry  Stacey,  in  the  manli 
ness  of  his  love,  making  no  reservations,  asking  no  terms,  had 
laid  his  heart  at  her  feet  and  had  gone  away  leaving  it  there. 
And  now  he  was  to  come  back  and  to  ask  her  what  would  she 
do  with  the  offering.  To  a  girl  of  Helen  Graham's  principles, 
there  was  but  one  answer  to  make.  Her  heart  was  breaking 
with  grief  at  being  forced  into  a  life  of  certain  misery,  a  future 
of  blasted  hopes  and  ruined  aspirations.  She  was  withal 
ashamed  of  the  marriage  she  was  about  to  make,  well  knowing 
that  the  world  would  pronounce  it  a  mercenary  one,  and  with 
appearances  all  in  support  of  the  belief,  for  there  was  nothing 
of  sympathy  between  these  two  who  were  engaged.  She  had 
asked  that  it  be  kept  a  secret  till  the  day  it  was  to  be  completed, 
to  the  end  that  she  might  avoid  the  mortification  of  having  to 
give  answers  to  questions  when  she  had  none  to  give.  But 
with  Henry  Stacey  the  matter  was  wholly  different.  He  had 
earned  the  right  to  know  all  that  she  could  honestly  communi 
cate  to  any  living  being.  And  though  it  tore  her  heart  out  of 
her  breast  to  do  it,  though  he  should  the  next  moment  curse  her 
and  spit  upon  her,  yet  would  she  tell  him.  Her  course  was 
therefore  resolved  upon.  To  all  others  the  secret  of  her 
intended  marriage  should  only  be  broken  by  the  public  jour 
nals  that  would  announce  its  solemnization.  But  from  Henry 
Stacey  nothing  should  be  kept  back  that  the  future  wife  of 
another  could  tell.  While  this  matter  was  still  being  revolved 
in  her  mind,  Henry  Stacey  knocked  at  her  door.  She  had 
heard  his  footsteps,  so  well  known  to  her,  even  as  with  youthful 
elasticity  he  bounded  through  the  hall  below,  and  as  he  came 
springing  up  the  stairs  and  along  the  passage  leading  to  her 
door,  the  beating  of  her  heart  kept  pace  with  the  sound,  and 
she  thought  almost  as  loud.  When  she  looked  upon  his  hand 
some,  hopeful  face,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  joy  and  delight,  she 
became  more  woe-begone  than  ever. 

He  saw  the  change  in  her  face  at  a  glance,  and  without 
taking  the  chair  she  offered  to  him,  came  boldly  forward  with 
all  the  tenderness  of  an  accepted  lover,  and  with  the  anxiety 
of  a  husband,  and  taking  her  hand  asked  her  what  had  happened. 
"  You  are  not  well,"  he  cried.  "  You  do  not  look  like  the 
same  person  that  I  left  yesterday  afternoon.  Surely  something 
has  occurred  ;  what  is  it  ?  How  is  your  mother  ?  Has  anything 
happened  to  her  ? " 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 


205 


These  questions  followed  one  another  so  rapid!/  that  Helen 
had  no  time  to  reply  to  any  of  them. 

"  No,"  she  said,  withdrawing  her  hand  from  his,  "my  mother 
is  as  well  as  usual ;  certainly  she  is  no  worse  than  she  was  yes 
terday.  She  promised  to  meet  you  to-day,  but  she  has  not 
been  able  to  do  it,  and  has  asked  me  to  present  her  regrets  and 
to  bid  you  adieu  in  her  name." 

"  But  yourself,  Helen  ;  you  are  not  well,  are  you  ?  You  look 
really  very  pale.  Tell  me,  has  anything  occurred  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Stacey  ;  nothing,  I  assure  you.  I  am  quite  as  well 
as  usual,  and  have  nothing  whatever  to  complain  of." 

Henry  was  forced  to  be  satisfied  with  this  positive  denial, 
though  his  fears  were  even  still  far  from  being  put  at  rest. 
They  sat  down  and  tried  to  converse,  but  the  failure  was  even 
more  marked  than  upon  the  day  previous.  The  weather  was 
a  good  enough  topic  while  it  could  be  made  to  last,  but  it  was 
'soon  exhausted,  as  were  all  subsequent  renewals  of  it.  Each 
of  them  appeared  equally  to  dread  the  subject  which  had  drawn 
them  together. 

Harry  had  evidently  entered  the  room  in  the  firm  belief  that 
his  suit  was  to  be  a  successful  one.  His  countenance  radiant 
with  pleasure,  his  elastic  step,  his  pleasant,  confident  voice, 
all  indicated  the  man  who  looked  for  no  form  of  disap 
pointment  that  day.  This  Helen  felt,  and  would  have  fain 
warded  off  the  blow,  or  at  least,  postponed  it  to  a  day  more 
remote.  But  there  was  to  be  no  help  for  it.  And  besides, 
each  moment  that  passed,  appeared  to  dry  up  and  evaporate  a 
certain  amount  of  his  hopeful  spirits,  until  now  he  looked  as 
dolorous  as  if  he  had  already  received  the  stroke  of  grace 
from  the  lady's  hand.  Indeed,  he  soon  sank  down  into  that 
frame  of  mind,  in  which  he  was  willing  to  force  on  an  answer, 
if  only  to  know  the  worst  as  soon  as  possible.  He  had  ad 
dressed  his  lady  love,  for  so  he  thought  her,  when  he  entered, 
as  Helen.  He  did  not  now  dare  to  use  that  familiar  name. 

"  Miss  Graham,"  at  last  he  said,  in  a  voice  as  sad  as  if  he 
had  already  known  his  fate,  "  I  am  going  away  to-day ;  I  shall 
not  be  back  again  for  several  weeks.  Would  it  be  taking  too 
great  a  liberty,  if  I  were  to  pray  you  to  remember  that  the 
heart  which  loves,  and  knows  not  if  that  love  be  returned,  is 
always  an  aching  heart.  You  know  that  I  did  not  ask  you  to 
love  me,  but  only  if  I  might  demand  your  father's  consent  to 
address  you.  It  is  true  that  to  a  lady  with  such  principles  as  I 
believe  Miss  Graham  to  possess,  there  is  no  important  differ- 


206  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

ence  between  doing  that  which  I  have  asked  of  you,  and  pro 
mising  to  love  me  outright.  For  I  am  sure  you  would  never 
consent  to  one,  unless  you  intended  to  do  the  other.  Perhaps 
I  have  deceived  myself  when  I  imagined,  as  I  have  only  done 
within  the  last  week,  that  I  saw  in  the  conduct  of  Miss  Gra 
ham  indications  that  led  me  to  hope  that  the  little  that  I  could 
offer  to  her,  would  not  be  rejected  with  scorn  ;  that  at  least 
she  would  pity  the  passion  if  she  was  unable  to  reciprocate  it. 
But  I  fear  now  that  I  have  been  too  ambitious,  and  have  been 
led  into  an  error,  that  a  lifetime  of  sorrow  can  alone  atone 
for." 

This  was  said  in  broken  sentences,  between  which  ample 
time  was  allowed  for  Helen  to  speak,  but  without  eliciting  a 
word  from  her.  She  could  not  speak.  She  could  think  of 
nothing  to  say. 

At  last  in  despair  of  getting  a  word  from  her,  Harry  con 
tinued,  — 

•'Then,  am  I  right  Miss  Graham?  Am  I  to  accept  your 
silence  as  a  proof  of  your  scorn,  visited  upon  my  presumption, 
as  well  as  a  negative  to  my  hopes  ?  " 

Helen  looked  at  him  imploringly,  and  said,  — 

"No,  Mr.  Stacey." 

She  could  go  no  farther. 

"  But  you  do  not  love  me,"  he  cried. 

She  did  not  answer.  She  could  not  confess  that  she  did, 
being  engaged  to  marry  another ;  and  to  deny  it,  would  be  to 
tell  a  falsehood. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  hope,  Miss  Graham,  that  at  some 
future  time,  no  matter  how  remote,  so  that  it  is  within  this 
dreary  life,  I  may  win  your  love  ?  Oh,  say  this ! "  he  ex 
claimed,  clasping  his  hands,  "and  I  will  serve  you,  toil  for  you, 
fight  for  you,  die  for  you,  and  be  happy  from  the  moment  you 
say  this  one  word." 

Helen  now  felt  the  necessity,  as  well  as  the  duty,  of  speak 
ing  and  putting  an  end  to  the  interview.  She  had  met  Harry 
to  give  him  an  answer,  not  to  hear  him  plead  a  hopeless  suit. 
To  permit  that,  would  be  to  inflict  a  needless  humiliation  upon 
a  noble  heart.  "  No,"  she  cried,  "  Mr.  Stacey,  I  cannot,  must 
not  permit  you  to  hope  for  anything,  for  there  is  no  hope  —  " 
She  was  upon  the  point  of  saying  "  for  us,"  but  corrected  her 
self,  and  said  "  for  you." 

"  Then  you  love  another,"  said  Harry,  almost  fiercely. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  207 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  answer.  She  was  selecting  a  for 
mula  to  use  in  her  reply. 

"  I  am  engaged  to  be  the  wife  of  another,"  she  said  at  last, 
in  a  voice  so  expressive  of  wretchedness,  that  any  but  a  re 
jected  lover,  must  have  observed  it. 

But  Harry  could  observe  nothing.  He  was  himself  too 
miserable,  to  think  of  the  woes  of  another.  He  sank  down 
in  his  chair  as  if  the  breath  had  been  knocked  out  of  him. 
The  mere  fact  that  she  did  not  love  him,  did  not  appear  serious. 
He  had  never  believed  that  she  did.  He  had  never  quite  ex 
pected  her  to  do  that,  even  in  the  most  sanguine  moments. 
He  had  only  hoped  to  find  her  heart  free,  and  to  in  time  so 
convince  her  of  his  devotion,  as  to  obtain  at  last  her  love. 
But  here  was  something  he  had  not  looked  for.  She  was  abso 
lutely  engaged  to  another  ;  she  was  therefore  lost  to  him.  He 
sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  resting  his  face  in  his  hands, 
plunged  in  despair. 

Helen  was  as  silent  as  himself;  she  sat  as  still  as  though 
willing  to  wait  forever  for  him  to  speak. 

At  last  he  began  to  look  back  over  his  conduct,  and  to  in 
quire  of  himself  what  he  had  done  to  deserve  such  misery  ? 
For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  his  acquaintance  with  Helen 
he  asserted  his  position  in  his  own  mind. 

"  Was  it  absurd  for  me  to  address  her?"  he  thought.  "  No,  it 
was  not.  I  love  her  truly,  and  it  was  not  presumptuous  for  me 
to  aspire  to  her  hand  ?  " 

He  turned  to  her  at  last,  with  firm  lips  and  a  steady  voice ; 
his  despair  was  assuming  something  like  anger.  He  began  to 
feel  that  he  had  been  too  hardly  dealt  with. 

"  Miss  Graham,  will  you  pardon  a  question  ?  " 

"  Any  that  you  choose  to  ask,  Mr.  Stacey,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice  ;  "I  will  answer  anything." 

"  Have  you  ever  suspected  that  I  loved  you,  before  my  decla 
ration  to  that  effect  made  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Stacey,  I  hare." 

"  How  long  have  you  suspected  it  ?  " 

"  Only  since  you  have  been  in  Virginia,  during  this  present 
visit." 

"  But  you  have  suspected  it  ever  since  I  arrived  here? " 

"Yes,  since  the  very  first  call  you  made  upon  us  ;  not  posi 
tively  at  the  beginning,  but  more  confidently  each  day." 

"  Has  your  bearing  towards  me,  since  my  arrival,  been  such 


208  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

as  you  think  just,  to  a  man  who  is  to  be  rejected  when  he  offers 
himself  in  marriage  ?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Stacey,  I  cannot  say  that  it  has  been.  I  do  not 
pretend  that  I  have  treated  you  as  I  ought  to  have  done." 

"  Has  your  engagement  been  made  public  ?  " 

"  It  has  not,  nor  is  it  to  be,  until  the  marriage  takes  place." 

Harry  remained  silent  a  moment,  while  Helen  sat  patiently 
and  meekly  waiting  for  him  to  continue  with  his  questions. 

"  Would  it  be  too  much,  were  I  to  ask  when  your  engagement 
was  formed,  and  to  whom  ?  I  do  not  feel  that  I  have  any  right 
to  ask  this,"  he  said,  and  was  going  to  add  to  the  admission, 
but  she  interrupted  him. 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  the  same  subdued  voice.  "You  have  the 
right  to  ask  anything  that  a  gentleman  may  ask  of  a  lady,  and 
receive  an  answer." 

Here  she  paused,  as  if  to  summon  fresh  strength  and  courage 
to  go  on. 

"  I  became  engaged  yesterday,"  she  said. 

"  Before  my  visit  was  made  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  No,  Mr.  Stacey,  afterwards." 

He  sprang  from  his  seat,  and  took  a  step  towards  her,  as  if 
to  convince  himself  by  actual  imspection  of  her  face,  if  her 
statement  was  true. 

But  the  same  sad  eyes  and  weary  look  met  him,  that  had  so 
startled  him  when  he  entered  tl  e  room,  and  he  paused  and  sat 
down  again.  He  now  waited  lor  the  name  of  the  gentleman 
to  whom  she  was  engaged,  but  she  did  not  give  it  at  the 
moment. 

"I  will  not  ask  you  to  tell  me  his  name,"  he  said  bitterly. 
"  It  is  enough  for  me  to  be  struck  with  my  own  fate,  without 
receiving  the  news  of  another's  bliss  to  add  to  my  chagrin." 

"  I  said  that  I  would  tell  you,  Mr.  Stacey,  though  I  should  tell 
no  one  else,  and  if  you  do  not  object,  I  will  do  so." 

Harry  sat  with  his  arms  folded,  looking  sternly  at  the  poor 
girl,  throwing  the  load  of  his  injuries  into  his  words  when  he 
spoke,  and  flashing  them  from  his  eyes  at  each  glance. 

She  was  long  in  pronouncing  the  name  of  the  man  to  whom 
she  was  betrothed ;  but  it  came  at  last.  "  It  was  Mr.  Enoch 
Bloodstone,"  she  said,  and  again  relapsed  into  a  patient 
silence. 

Harry  did  not  start  at  the  name  ;  he  looked  at  her  with  a 
puzzled  look.  "  Enoch  Bloodstone,"  he  repeated.  "  Do  you 
mean  your  father's  superintendent?" 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  209 

"  The  same,"  she  answered. 

He  sat  in  silence,  still  regarding  her.  At  last  he  spoke,  — • 
"  He  is  very  rich,  is  he  not  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  so,"  she  answered,  in  a  voice  scarcely  above 
a  whisper  ;  "  but  I  do  not  know  anything  further  about  his  cir 
cumstances  than  what  is  commonly  reported." 

"When  did  he  propose  to  you,  Miss  Graham?" 

"  A  long  time  ago.  It  is  more  than  a  year  ago,  before  we 
came  to  Virginia." 

"  But  you  did  not  accept  him  then,  Miss  Graham?" 

"  No,  I  did  not ;  I  accepted  him  only  yesterday." 

Harry  sat  staring  at  the  girl  with  a  look  that  took  in  her  en 
tire  form  from  head  to  foot,  but  dwelling  upon  no  part  of  her. 
He  could  not  descend  to  regard  her  face  especially  when  all 
had  so  grievously  wronged  him.  It  was  that  beautiful  but 
heartless  creature  who  had  trifled  with  him,  amused  herself, 
and  then  rejected  him  in  favor  of  a  vulgar  blackguard,  upon 
whom  blind  fortune  in  a  freak  had  lavished  a  certain  number  of 
dollars.  He  saw  not  her  crushed  and  disheartened  bearing ; 
her  sad  and  hopeless  look ;  her  dejected,  submitting  voice. 
His  own  misery  shut  this  all  out  from  him.  Her  golden  hair 
had  not  lost  a  tint,  and  even  now  the  sun  that  crept  in  at  the 
window,  at  times  flashed  upon  and  lit  it  up  with  a  splendor  that 
to  poor  Harry  was  a  mockery,  almost  an  insult. 

"  Why  did  you  not  accept  Mr.  Bloodstone  when  he  first  of 
fered  his  hand,  Miss  Graham  ?  Did  you  not  then  know  of  his 
wealth  ?  " 

There  was  a  faint  flash  of  the  old  fire  kindled  in  Helen's  eye 
by  this  taunt,  but  it  only  flickered  for  a  moment,  and  was 
quenched  by  a  single  tear  that  rose  up  and  took  its  place.  She 
made  no  answer. 

"  I  wish  you  had  done  so,"  he  cried,  bitterly. 

"  I  am  sure  I  wish  the  same,  if  it  would  please  you,  Mr.  Sta- 
cey." 

Harry  remained  silent  for  a  time,  during  which  his  despair 
seemed  to  grow  upon  him,  and  to  be  unbearable. 

"  Helen,"  he  cried  at  last,  wrildly,  "  you  cannot  understand 
what  you  are  doing.  You  have  deceived  yourself.  You  do  not 
know  what  it  is  to  love,  and  especially  what  it  is  to  marry  with 
out  it.  True,  I  am  poor  now,  but  I  shall  not  always  be  so.  I 
am  young  yet ;  at  my  age  this  man  Bloodstone  had  no  more 
fortune  than  I  now  possess.  Believe  me,  that  I  shall  not  re 
main  poor.  You  will  not  have  long  to  wait,  for  my  task  will  be 


210  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

a  task  inspired  by  love,  and  I  shall  never  rest  from  it  till  I  have 
placed  you  in  a  position  equal  to  the  best  in  the  land.  This 
man  is  unworthy  of  you,  and  all  the  treasure  in  the  mines  of 
the  world,  could  not  render  him  your  equal.  Oh,  do  not  sell 
yourself  for  this  man's  gold.  If  you  do,  you  will  bitterly  re 
pent  it.  Only  say  that  you  will  break  off  this  hateful,  this  dis 
graceful  engagement,  and  I  will  myself  give  you  up,  if  you  wish 
it.  Anything  but  that.  Do  not  make  yourself  miserable  for 
life,  as  I  am  sure  you  will  do,  if  you  marry  this  creature's  money." 

Harry  paused  for  a  reply.  Helen  could  not  answer ;  she 
dared  not  trust  herself  with  words ;  yet  her  sense  of  dignity 
told  her  that  it  was  not  just  to  herself  to  listen  to  Harry's  de 
preciation  of  her  intended  husband.  To  anybody  else,  she 
would  have  promptly  replied  by  rising  and  leaving  the  room 
at  the  first  remark  made  about  Enoch  Bloodstone.  But  she 
could  not  do  it  when  the  speaker  was  Harry  Stacey.  She 
would  be  content  if  she  could  pass  through  this  last  interview 
without  revealing  to  him  what  a  hold  he  had  upon  her  heart. 
He  could  say  whatever  it  should  please  him  to  say.  His  voice 
even  in  anger  was  sweeter  to  her  ears  than  the  softest  whisper 
of  any  other  human  being.  A  blow  from  Harry  Stacey  would 
be  more  welcome  to  Helen  than  a  term  of  endearment  from 
this  man  to  whom,  in  a  short  month,  she  would  be  united  in  mar 
riage.  Harry  in  the  energy  of  his  passion  had  risen  from  his 
seat  and  approached  Helen  as  if  to  catch  her  answer.  But 
when,  after  standing  a  moment,  no  word  came  from  her  lips,  he 
looked  in  her  face  more  carefully,  and  its  palor  seemed  to  strike 
him  all  at  once  with  a  new  light.  He  saw  a  tear ;  not  of  anger 
as  he  thought  at  the  remark,  but  rather  of  suffering.  He  had 
wounded  her  by  his  brutality.  He  was  at  her  feet  in  an  instant. 

"Oh,  forgive  me,  Miss  Graham,  I  did  not  know  what  I  was 
saying ;  I  only  thought  of  my  love,  of  my  disappointment,  of 
my  miserable,  wretched  self.  I  was  brutal,  I  was  wicked  to 
speak  to  you  in  this  manner.  Can  you  forgive  me  ?" 

He  caught  her  hand  in  his  to  entreat  her  pardon ;  she  did 
not  withdraw  it  nor  even  attempt  to  do  so.  There  were  more 
tears  in  her  eyes  ;  he  covered  her  hands  with  kisses  and  vows 
of  his  love  ;  but  not  a  word  could  she  speak.  He  ceased  ad 
dressing  her  as  Miss  Graham,  and  again  called  her  Helen.  His 
voice  was  not  angry ;  it  was  the  tender  voice  of  love,  such  as 
he  had  never  before  used  to  her  ;  such  as  she  had  never  before 
heard ;  each  word  he  spoke  found  a  place  in  her  heart ;  her 
eyes  closed,  and  .her  ears  drank  in  the  sweet  story  they  had  so 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  211 

long  yearned  to  hear.  It  was  the  Harry  of  her  dream,  reclin 
ing  once  more  at  her  feet ;  and,  as  he  breathed  forth  with  the 
fervor  of  a  lover  and  the  delicacy  of  a  brother  what  was  in  his 
heart,  the  black  curtain  seemed  to  disappear  from  her  soul,  and 
the  fairy  land,  the  floating  island  seemed  once  more  to  come 
faintly  in  view.  His  head  was  upon  her  shoulder,  —  her  cheek 
was  against  his  cheek.  His  low  voice  said  to  her,  "  Queen  of 
my  soul,  come  away  with  me  and  love  me  ;  let  us  go  from  this 
place  to  a  fairer  and  brighter  land,  where  we  shall  live  for  each 
other  and  be  happy."  For  a  moment,  Helen  felt  herself  rising 
to  follow  her  lord,  for  so  he  was,  to  obey  his  command  and  step 
upon  the  fairy  island  now  so  near  to  the  shore  that  its  palm 
groves  waved  to  her  a  gentle  and  familiar  invitation.  She  could 
see  the  gorgeous  flowers  and  breathe  their  sweet  and  intoxica 
ting  fragrance.  But  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  hag 
gard  and  careworn  form  of  her  father  seemed  to  stand  before 
her,  and  sorrowfully  point  at  another  and  still  more  sad  face  in 
the  distance.  It  was  her  darling  mother.  The  young  girl 
opened  her  eyes  and  pushed  Harry  away ;  not  rudely,  for  he 
had  not  offended,  but  firmly  and  resolutely. 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Stacey,"  she  said. 

Harry  took  the  chair  to  which  she  pointed. 

"  I  know  that  you  love  me,  and  have  never  once  doubted  it 
since  the  first  moment  that  you  appeared  to  wish  me  to  know 
it.  I  know  that  you  suffer,  and  am  sorry  ;  deeply  sorry  for  you. 
I  wish  it  lay  in  my  power  to  make  you  happy.  There  is  scarce 
ly  anything  in  the  world  short  of  disgrace  that  I  would  not  freely, 
gladly  do,  to  give  you  an  hour  of  happiness.  I  hope,  Mr.  Sta 
cey,  that  you  will  believe  me  when  I  say  this.  God,  who  can  see 
what  is  in  our  hearts,  knows  that  I  speak  the  truth.  But  you 
must  remember  that  there  are  other  disappointments  in  this 
world  of  grief  besides  the  one  under  which  you  suffer;  that 
yours  is  not  the  only  broken  heart  among  all  the  million's  of 
God's  creatures.  There  are  others  who  suffer,  and  bleed,  and 
die  even,  in  secret,  not  daring  to  tell  of  their  wounds,  but  re 
pining  in  unknown  and  unpitied  sorrow,  that  gnaws  at  their 
hearts  and  cannot  be  disclosed.  I  believe  that  you  love  me  ; 
and  I  believe  that  the  grandeur  of  your  nature  is  worthy  of  the 
love  of  myself,  —  of  any  woman  that  lives.  If  I  did  not,  I 
should  not  to-day  be  answering  your  questions  and  making  ex 
planations  to  you  of  my  conduct.  I  have  told  you  all  that  I 
can  tell  you  ;  have  answered  every  question  that  a  lady,  situated 
as  I  am,  can  answer  without  forgetting  what  is  due  to  herself 


212  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

Perhaps  I  have  done  more.  I  have  promised  to  become  the 
wife  of  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone,  and  intend  to  fulfil  my  engage 
ment  with  him,  if  I  should  live  that  long,  in  a  little  more  than 
a  month.  You  seem  to  think  that  I  have  been  induced  to  do 
this  by  my  desire  to  share  in  that  gentleman's  wealth." 

Harry  made  a  movement  as  if  to  protest,  but  Helen,  without 
observing  it,  continued,  — 

"  I  cannot  reply  to  this  opinion  of  yours,  nor  would  I  if  I 
could.  It  is  enough  that  I  have  promised  to  marry  him,  and 
that  it  has  become  now,  even  if  it  was  not  before,  my  duty  to 
do  so.  If  Mr.  Henry  Stacey  loves  me  as  truly  and  as  loyally 
as  he  says  he  does,  and  is  the  noble  and  generous  gentleman 
that  I  believe  him  to  be,  he  will  not  endeavor  to  make  the  lady 
of  his  heart  forget  her  duty,  but  he  will  respect  her  motives 
even  without  knowing  them.  He  will  rise  up  and  go  away  from 
her,  and  leave  her  to  struggle  along  life's  weary  path,  bearing 
patiently  to  the  end  such  burden  as  God  may  have  laid  upon 
her,  without  adding  as  much  as  another  feather  to  her  heavy 
load." 

She  ceased  speaking  and  buried  her  face  in  her  handkerchief 
for  a  moment,  then  wiped  her  eyes  and  again  sat  erect  as  before. 
Harry  arose  from  his  chair  and  approached  hers. 

"Can  you  say  anything  more  to  me,  Helen?" 

"  Not  now,  Harry,"  she  answered. 

"Will  you  bear  a  message  to  your  dear  mother  from  me, 
Helen?" 

"Yes,  Harry,  gladly." 

"Say  to  her  that  Harry  went  away  full  of  love  for  her,  and 
all  that  is  hers.  That  she  has  a  place  in  his  heart  by  the  side 
of  his  own  mother,  and  that  when  he  thinks  of  her,  it  is  as 
his  other  mother.  That  he  will  never  cease  to  love  ]jer,  and 
those  whom  she  loves,  while  he  lives." 

T^iis  said,  he  advanced,  and  stooping  down,  took  up  a  ringlet 
of  the  lady's  hair  that  hung  for  the  moment  in  rich  profusion 
upon  her  shoulder  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"Good-by,  Helen,"  he  said,  and  went  out  at  the  door. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  213 


CHAPTER  XXIH. 

THE   WEDDING   DAY   IS    FIXED. 

IN  the  course  of  the  day  Helen  and  Mrs.  Graham  talked  over 
the  contemplated  marriage.  The  mother  was  hard  to  reconcile 
to  the  step  her  daughter  was  about  to  take.  She  feared  it 
would  not  result  in  her  Baby's  happiness,  she  said. 

"  Are  you  quite  certain,  darling,"  she  asked  again  and  again, 
"that  you  really  love  Mr.  Bloodstone?  Have  you  studied 
carefully  your  own  heart,  and  are  you  sure  you  do  right  to  mar 
ry  this  gentleman  ?  There  are  many  fine  young  men  in  this 
country  to  choose  from.  Might  you  not  by  waiting  meet  with 
some  one  that  you  would  prefer  ?  " 

"  Dear  mother,  I  know  that  I  am  doing  just  right.  There  is 
no  one  living  whom,  at  this  moment,  I  would  marry  save  Mr. 
Bloodstone.  Not  if  they  were  all  to  come  in  a  grand  proces 
sion  and  offer  themselves.  I  would  reject  them  all  and  take 
him.  So  make  yourself  quite  content,  mother,  and  believe  me 
that  I  know  my  own  heart  thoroughly.  Now  let  us  talk  of  the 
day.  When  shall  it  be,  for  I  have  promised  to  give  him  an  an 
swer  speedily  ;  and  you  know,  mother,  what  young  lovers  are?" 

There  was  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  Helen's  voice  that  caused 
her  mother  to  look  up,  but  the  smile  on  her  face  dispelled  the 
notion,  and  she  answered,  — 

"  You  know,  dear,  that  a  year's  engagement  is  expected  of  a 
young  lady  at  home  in  Pennsylvania,  at  the  least.  You  must 
not  marry  in  haste,  for  you  remember  the  old  proverb." 

"  But,  mamma,  that  is  quite  impossible,  we  are  here  in 
Washoe  now  and  not  in  Pennsylvania.  Such  a  delay  is  not  to 
be  thought  of.  I  know  Mr.  Bloodstone  would  not  agree  to  it 
for  a  moment.  Why,  mamma,  I  might  lose  my  suitor  entirely 
were  I  to  put  him  upon  such  a  probation.  A  month  is  quite 
as  long  as  he  will  consent  to  wait,  I  am  sure.  Besides,  the  en 
gagement  is  a  family  secret,  and  the  wedding  is  to  be  without 
display.  I  have  known  Mr.  Bloodstone  a  long  time  ;  who  is  to 
know  how  long  we  have  been  engaged  ?  " 


214  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

"  A  month,  Helen  !  I  could  not  think  of  your  marrying  any 
gentleman  after  only  a  month's  engagement.  It  would  be  a 
disgrace.  Why,  I  could  never  tell  it.  I  blush  at  the  very 
thought  of  such  a  thing.  What  has  come  over  you,  my  child  ?  " 

But  Helen  persisted  in  her  determination  to  have  as  little  de 
lay  as  possible,  until  at  last  her  mother  agreed,  and  the  time  was 
set  six  weeks  ahead. 

Helen's  motive  for  keeping  the  engagement  secret  was  a 
dread  of  facing  the  inquiries  of  her  friends.  How  could  she 
ever  explain  to  Blanche  Mclver  the  humiliating,  the  degrading 
step  she  had  taken.  That  she  could  ever  convince  her  friend 
that  she  had  married  Enoch  Bloodstone  for  love,  she  felt  to  be 
impossible.  And  it  would  be  a  violation  of  her  notions  of  duty, 
once  married  to  him,  to  make  any  explanation  whatever  upon 
the  point.  She  therefore  argued  to  herself,  "  When  I  am  mar 
ried  no  one  will  presume  to  question  me.  They  may  have  their 
own  opinion,  but  I  shall  at  least  be  spared  the  indignity  of  hear 
ing  them.  People  will  think  I  have  sold  myself  for  Bloodstone's 
money,  and  if  they  are  very  ill-natured  they  may  go  beyond, 
and  say  that  I  might  have  done  better,  that  I  might  have  got 
more  money  elsewhere  and  perhaps  a  gentleman  with  it.  They 
may  say  that  I  held  myself  very  cheap  in  the  market.  But  I, 
at  least,  of  all  the  world,  can  only  suspect  them  of  it,  for  they 
will  be  careful  not  to  hint  such  a  thing  in  my  presence." 

It  was  not  only  Blanche  Mclver  and  her  San  Francisco 
friends,  whose  criticisms  Helen  dreaded  to  undergo,  but  there 
were  eyes  in  Virginia,  in  the  very  hotel  where  she  lived,  that 
she  could  not  again  meet  as  of  yore.  Even  the  voice  of  the 
stage-driver,  as  he  rushed  into  her  parlor  the  next  evening  to 
set  down  a  beautiful  tea  rose,  growing  and  blossoming  in  a 
wooden  box,  that  he  had  fetched  from  California,  drew  her 
heart  up  into  her  throat.  When  he  took  her  hand  in  his  rough 
paw,  and  shook  it  as  if  it  had  been  the  handle  of  a  pump,  she 
felt  sure  that  he  was  looking  quite  through  her  eyes  at  the 
dreadful  secret  that  lay  only  half-hidden  in  the  bundle  of  woes 
and  griefs  at  the  bottom  of  her  breast.  And,  for  the  first  time, 
she  was  glad  when  Jack  had  finished  his  quarter  of  an  hour's 
chat  about  his  horses  and  the  events  of  his  trip  over  the  moun 
tains,  and  had  gone  away  to  the  dining-room  to,  as  he  in  his 
rough  way  termed  it,  throw  himself  outside  of  a  few  plates  of 
hash. 

But  it  was  the,  to  her,  quiet  and  gentle-mannered  Greathouse 
that  she  the  most  dreaded  to  have  know  of  what  had  been  agreed 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  215 

upon.  Not  that  he  had  ever  presumed  to  address  a  word  to 
her  upon  so  delicate  a  matter  as  the  contingency  of  her  being 
married  to  anybody.  For  he  had  never  done  so.  But  he  had 
so  conducted  himself  that  Helen  felt  almost  as  if  she  was  di 
rectly  accountable  to  him  for  her  conduct.  That  he  had  saved 
her  life  and  the  lives  of  her  whole  family,  she  had  never  forgot 
ten.  But  he  had  done  more  than  this.  He  had  seen  and  con 
versed  with  her  every  day  since  that  time,  and  always  in  the 
;ame  way.  He  had  never  met  her,  save  casually  in  the  halls 
of  the  hotel  or  at  the  table,  and  had  always  left  her  at  her  own 
door,  declining  her  invariable  invitation  to  enter.  Their  con 
versation  had  never  so  much  as  once  wandered  away  from  sub 
jects  of  common  or  ordinary  public  notoriety.  Neither  herself 
nor  her  interests,  himself,  his  hopes,  or  his  wishes,  had  ever 
been  so  much  as  once  hinted  at  between  them.  Yet  Robert 
Greathouse  and  Helen  Graham  as  fully  understood  each  other 
as  though  they  had  spent  days  and  weeks  in  conversing  freely 
about  themselves. 

Women  possess  the  power  of  understanding  men's  sentiments 
towards  themselves,  and  generally  do  understand  them  long  be 
fore  they  take  form  and  are  issued  in  the  coin  of  words.  There 
is  a  certain  system  of  telegraphy  that  exists  between  men  and 
women,  with  its  own  code  of  signals,  which  the  delicate  and 
sensitive  woman  never  mistakes.  By  this  code  they  had  con 
versed.  Through  this  mysterious  line  they  had  communicated 
their  thoughts  in  this  peculiar  language.  He  had  said  to  her, 
"  I  love  you,  and  you  know  that  I  love  you.  That  passion  1 
do  not,  cannot  expect  you  to  return.  You  cannot  be  asked 
to  ally  yourself  to  this  colossal  failure,  to  this  debris  of  a  mis 
directed  life,  this  broken  fragment  of  a  mischievous  system. 
You  must  be  the  queen  of  a  society  from  which  I  shall  be  ex 
pelled,  driven  forth  a  proscribed  outlaw.  The  golden  tints  of 
your  hair  must  flash  their  yellow  rays  over  a  system  of  domes 
tic  joys  where  I  may  not  so  much  as  set  my  foot.  All  this  is 
plain,  and  Robert  Greathouse  understands  it,  consents  to  it, 
desires  it.  But  while  this  is  true,  he  still  asks  of  you  that  you 
will  remember  him,  not  as  others  have  told  you  of  him,  but  as 
you  understand  him  and  know  him.  That  you  will,  when  he  is 
gone,  retain  in  your  heart  one  corner  of  friendly  recollection 
for  the  man  whom  they  would  only  know  as  the  gambler  and 
the  outlaw,  but  whom  you  have  known  to  be  something  more 
than  that." 

All  this  Helen  had  understood,  though  nc  word  had  ever 


216  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

passed  between  them,  and  every  action  of  hers  in  his  presence 
had  been  a  response  to  this  standing  declaration ;  he  had  felt 
and  understood  her  reply.  She  said  to  him,  — 

"  Y  ou  are  understood.  I  know  the  generous  spirit  that  actu 
ates  you.  I  know  it  in  all  of  its  noble  unselfishness.  You 
may  be  to  the  world  whatever  the  world  chooses  to  call  you  ; 
you  may  be  Greathouse,  the  murderer,  the  gambler,  or  what 
you  will;  but  to  Helen  Graham,  who  understands  how  you 
are  so,  and  why,  and  what  you  would  have  been  had  circum 
stances  dealt  differently  with  you,  you  can  never  be  else  than 
Greathouse,  the  noble,  the  grand,  the  brave  and  generous,  self- 
sacrificing  man ;  entitled  to  her  friendship  and  gratitude, 
which  debt  shall  never  be  withheld." 

And  now  she  felt  that  she  had  taken  a  step  which  she  could 
not,  would  not,  explain  to  any  human  creature,  and,  which  left 
unexplained,  must  lose  her  the  respect  of  this  man.  But  a  little 
time  before,  she  could  not  have  believed  that  the  opinion  of 
Robert  Greathouse  could  have  been  of  such  consequence  to 
her  as  she  now  found  it  to  be.  She  prized  his  good  opinion 
more  than  she  did  that  of  any  one  else,  save  the  one  sole  idol 
of  her  heart ;  and  this  one  had  already  been  told  all  that  she 
could  tell  to  living  creature,  and  had  gone  away.  She  said  to 
herself,  — 

"Greathouse  has,  in  his  heart,  placed  me  as  beyond  his 
reach  ;  but,  in  doing  that,  he  has  reasoned  that  I  will  do  nothing 
degrading,  nothing  unworthy  of  the  woman  he  believes  me  to 
be.  In  crushing  out  his  own  hopes,  he  has  at  least  believed 
that  I  will  never  marry  a  man  who  is  his  inferior.  What  will 
he  think  of  me  when  he  learns  that  I  am  about  to  become  the 
wife  of  one  who  has  shown  himself  to  be  unworthy  to  associate 
with  Robert  Greathouse,  the  murderer,  in  his  worst  and  lowest* 
character  ?  I,  at  least,  owe  it  to  him  not  to  do  that.  What  will 
he  think  of  me  when  he  hears  of  it  ?  To  him  it  will  be  a  de 
liberate  sale  of  myself  for  Enoch  Bloodstone's  wealth.  I  must 
keep  the  secret  till  all  is  over,  and  the  sacrifice  is  complete. 
Then  he  will  go  his  way,  and  I  will  sink  down  to  the  fate  that 
is  so  surely  closing  around  me." 

But  if  Helen  expected,  by  her  sacrifice,  to  bring  back  to  the 
house  the  happiness  and  contentment  of  better  days,  she  was 
in  the  main  disappointed.  It  is  true,  that  her  father's  conduct 
was  changed  toward  the  family,  and,  in  consequence  of  this, 
she  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  mother's  state  of  mind  appa 
rently  improved. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  217 

But  the  relief  was  only  superficial.  The  mother  could  not 
reconcile  herself  to  what  she  thought  was  a  mistake  of  Helen's, 
in  the  selection  of  a  husband.  Had  she  been  in  good  health, 
no  doubt  after  the  matter  was  once  decided  upon,  her  own  del 
icacy  would  have  prevented  her  from  reverting  to  the  matter 
which  was  constantly  upon  her  mind.  But  she  was  an  invalid, 
growing  daily  more  peevish  and  fretful.  Every  day  she  forgot 
herself,  and  made  some  allusion  to  the  mesalliance  that  her 
daughter,  in  her  judgment,  was  about  to  make.  Then,  with  an 
apology  for  her  forgetfulness  of  what  was  due  to  the  future 
wife,  she  would  burst  into  tears  and  clasp  her  "  beautiful  golden- 
haired  Baby,"  as  she  called  Helen,  to  her  arms. 

Helen  tried  all  she  could  to  soothe  her  mother,  and  to  recon 
cile  her  to  the  event.  She  invented  all  sorts  of  noble  actions 
and  splendid  achievements,  of  which  she  made  Bloodstone  the 
hero.  She  enlarged  upon  his  uniform  kindness  to  her  father, 
and  multiplied  by  ten  the  amount  of  money  he  had  spent  in 
the  mine.  She  discovered  innumerable  cases  of  persons  who 
had  been  in  like  manner  assisted  in  difficulties  by  this  generous 
and  self-sacrificing  man.  His  life  had  been  spent  in  searching 
for  opportunities  to  perform  noble  deeds. 

Matilda  would  hear  all  without  a  word  of  commendation  or 
objection,  and  when  it  would  be  done  she  would  draw  her 
daughter  to  her  heart  and  hold  her  against  it,  as  she  would  have 
done  had  some  slaughterer  of  innocents,  with  sword  in  hand, 
been  knocking  at  the  door,  and  demanding  her  first-born  for 
instant  destruction. 

But  Mr.  Graham  seemed  to  have  gained  a  new  lease  of  hope 
ful  spirits.  He  had  been  completely  imposed  upon  by  his 
daughter.  To  him,  Bloodstone  was  a  man  like  any  other,  and, 
though  he  had  never  admired  him  greatly,  he  could  see  nothing 
so  very  extraordinary  in  a  young  woman  falling  in  love  with 
him.  Had  it  been  a  girl  that  was  to  have  been  married  to  a 
son  of  his,  he  would  have  been  quite  capable  of  observing  the 
natural  incongruity  of  the  match.  But  as  it  was,  while  he  had 
hardly  expected  to  see  his  daughter  fall  in  love  with  the  man 
upon  whom  his  own  fortune  so  much  depended,  yet  he  was  not, 
upon  the  whole,  greatly  surprised. 

He  had  had,  at  onetime,  more  ambitious  notions  with  respect 
to  his  daughter's  place  in  life,  but  now  financial  embarrass 
ments  had  quite  destroyed  all  of  these  illusions,  and  he  was 
content  to  see  her  marry  a  substantial  man,  capable  of  furnish 
ing  her  with  the  necessary  comforts  to  which  she  had  been  ac- 


218  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

customed.  And  when  he  found  that  her  own  inclinations  so 
completely  tallied  with  his  necessities,  he  felt  that  he  had  been 
favored  by  a  piece  of  almost  incredible  good  fortune.  When, 
yielding  to  the  importunities  of  Bloodstone,  he  wrote  her  the 
letter  which  had  brought  this  all  about,  he  had  not  intended  for 
her  to  make  any  very  great  sacrifice  of  her  feelings.  By  con 
senting  to  receive  assistance  from  Bloodstone,  he  felt  that  he 
was  in  honor  committed  by  one  act  and  another  to  say  some 
thing  in  favor  of  his  pretensions. 

When  Bloodstone  told  him  that  he  could  not  go  on  any 
longer  with  his  outlay,  without  some  encouragement  from  the 
object  of  his  hopes,  he,  Graham,  saw  nothing  to  wonder  at 
in  that.  It  was  only  natural  that  the  man  should  come  to  that 
determination  at  last ;  and  though  his  putting  that  resolution  in 
execution,  and  abandoning  the  work,  would  result  in  his  own 
immediate  and  hopeless  ruin,  still  he  could  not  complain. 
The  wonder  had  been  that  Bloodstone  had  not  given  up  the 
enterprise  long  before. 

It  was  while  pressed  by  Bloodstone  upon  this  point  that  he 
had  written  the  letter;  but,  had  he  had  any  notion  that  in  doing 
so  he  would  cause  his  daughter  to  make  any  very  great  sacri 
fice,  he  would  not  have  so  worded  his  letter.  He  had  only 
wished  her  to  treat  the  man  fairly,  and  to  accept  or  reject  him, 
in  accordance  with  her  notions  of  what  was  best  for  her  own 
future  happiness. 

Had  Bloodstone  returned  to  the  mine  with  Helen's  positive 
refusal,  Mr.  Graham  would  have  yielded  to  the  result,  would 
have  abandoned  himself  to  his  fate  without  a  word  of  reproach. 
He  would  even  have  commended  her  in  the  midst  of  his 
ruin. 

But  he  had  not  understood  his  daughter's  nature,  nor  had 
he  placed  a  proper  estimate  upon  the  cold,  calculating  charac 
ter  of  the  man  in  whose  hands  he  was  placing  so  tremendous 
an  engine  as  the  letter  proved  to  be.  He  was  quite  capable 
of  making  any  sacrifice  for  his  daughter's  happiness,  but  he 
had  erred  in  his  estimate  of  what  women  are  capable  of  doing 
for  those  they  love. 

Had  he  made  a  confidant  of  his  wife,  he  would  never  have 
made  the  mistake.  Her  woman's  knowledge  of  woman  would 
have  saved  them.  She  knew  in  a  moment  what  Mr.  Graham 
never  could  learn,  that  no  woman  of  Helen's  lofty  nature,  could 
love  or  even  respect  such  a  man  as  Enoch  Bloodstone.  She 
knew  instinctively  that  it  was  the  mating  of  the  eagle  with  the 


ROBERT   GREATIIOUSE.  219 

barn-yard  fowl,  and  that  nature  must  protest  at  tie  unnatu 
ral  alliance. 

But  Mr.  Graham,  happy  at  finding  that  Helen  had,  of  her 
own  choice,  selected  Bloodstone,  simply  looked  forward  to  the 
development  of  his  mine,  if  fortune  favored  him,  and  to  the 
comfortable  establishment  of  his  daughter,  to  her  own  satisfac 
tion,  in  any  event.  • 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MORE   TROUBLE   AT   THE    MINE. 

THE  time  before  the  wedding-day  was  spent  by  Mr.  Graham 
chiefly  at  the  office,  examining  accounts  and  watching  the  dis 
bursements.  In  fact,  Bloodstone  had,  since  the  return  of  his 
principal  to  the  Territory,  so  managed  matters  that  he  had  as 
little  occasion  for  visiting  the  mine  as  possible.  And  when  that 
gentleman  did  go  down  the  shaft,  the  superintendent  always 
adroitly  contrived  to  go  with  him  in  person,  or  to  have  him  ac 
companied  by  either  the  engineer  or  the  head  miner,  in  whom, 
for  reasons  well  known  to  the  reader,  he  had  full  confidence. 
When  he  was  in  this  manner  conducted  into  the  mine,  he  was, 
of  course,  always  taken  into  the  fifth  or  lower  level,  and  so 
shown  freely  about  when  the  work  was  going  on,  and  then 
shown  out  again.  If  he  ever  spoke  of  visiting  the  fourth  level, 
which  was  the  level  being  worked  when  he  left  the  autumn  be 
fore,  good  reasons  against  doing  so  were  always  easily  found,  and 
then  the  matter  was  either  postponed  or  wholly  overruled.  But 
as  time  progressed,  Bloodstone  did  not  seem  to  prosecute  the 
work  as  zealously  as  Mr.  Graham  had  expected  to  see  it  go  on. 
The  gangs  of  men,  instead  of  being  increased,  were  each  day 
in  some  manner  diminished,  until  the  work  had  come  almost  to 
a  stand-still.  Mr.  Graham  was  surprised  at  this.  Bloodstone 
had,  all  along,  intimated  to  him  that  he  was  dilatory  in  the  man 
agement,  not  from  want  of  faith  in  the  mine,  but  because,  as  he 
said,  he  had  engaged  in  the  work  to  assist  Mr.  Graham  as  well 
as  his  family,  including  his  daughter,  for  whom  he  had  an  ardent 


220  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

attachment,  and  that  he  had  already  ventured  as  much  of  hi:; 
wealth  in  the  enterprise  as  he  felt  that  he  could  reasonably  do, 
unless  he  was  to  receive  his  reward  in  the  hand  of  the  object 
of  his  passion.  Mr.  Graham  had  felt  the  humiliation  of  his  posi 
tion  for  a  long  time.  In  fact,  from  the  first,  he  had  seen  the 
fatal  error  that  he  had  committed,  but  it  was  now  too  late  tq 
remedy  that.  He  could  onty  go  on  as  he  had  commenced. 
But  now  the  matter  had  taken  a  wholly  different  complexion. . 
Mr.  Bloodstone  had  proposed  to  Helen  and  had  been  joyfully 
accepted.  If  he  really  had  confidence  in  the  mine  as  he  pro 
fessed  to  have,  he  was  no  longer  spending  his  money  and  his 
time  for  the  benefit  of  another,  but  really  for  himself.  With 
Helen  as  his  wife,  Mr.  Bloodstone  would  become  to  all  intents 
the  owner  and  controller  of  the  property.  It  would  be  prac 
tically  his  own.  Then  why  should  he  not  go  on  and  prosecute  it 
to  a  full  and  complete  development  ?  So  reasoned  Mr.  Gra 
ham,  and  so  he  pleaded  with  Bloodstone.  All  of  this  the  super 
intendent  fully  agreed  to  by  word  of  mouth.  But  each  day 
saw  a  reduction  of  the  force  at  work  in  the  drifts  and  levels. 
True,  he  would  always  be  ready  with  an  excuse  of  some  sort. 
Sometimes  it  would  be  that  men  could  not  be  obtained.  The 
wages  of  laborers  had  been  advanced,  and  he  would  not  submit 
to  the  intended  extortion.  At  last,  as  the  wedding-day  drew 
near,  it  was  that  approaching  event  that  took  up  all  of  his  atten 
tion  and  absorbed  his  thoughts.  He  could  not  employ  his  mind 
upon  administrative  affairs,  when  so  much  happiness  was  coming 
hourly  nearer  and  nearer  to  him.  Mr.  Graham  could  scarcely 
find  open  fault  with  this  gallant  whim  of  the  happy  bridegroom, 
so  he  sat  in  bitter  disappointment  and  saw  the  precioTis  moments 
slip  away,  in  what  he  thought  to  be  disastrous  idleness.  I 

One  morning,  about  a  fortnight  before  the  wedding-day,  the 
now  almost  discouraged  owner  of  the  mine  rose  from  his  bed  at 
an  early  hour  and  proceeded  to  the  pit's  mouth  to  see  how  the 
work  was  going  on.  He  reached  there  after  the  hour  when  the 
men  should  have  been,  according  to  the  rules,  all  at  their 
places  at  the  bottom  of  the  fifth  level.  To  his  amanzement,  he 
found  them  standing  about  the  hoisting  shed,  in  clusters,  idly 
talking. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  he  inquired  of  the  first  man  he  met. 

"Have  you  not  heard?"  was  the  reply.  "Mr.  Bloodstone 
has  gone  to  tell  you  about  it.  We  are  in  a  bad  scrape.  The 
mine  is  flooded  and  we  cannot  work." 

Mr.  Graham  felt  almost  as  if  he  had  heard  his  death-sentence 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  221 

when  these  terrible  words  fell  upon  his  ears.  During  all  the 
time  he  had  been  operating  the  mine,  from  the  first  breaking 
ground,  with  all  his  plagues  and  all  his  troubles,  this  one  of 
water  had  never  come  upon  him  before.  He  turned  so  pale 
that  one  of  the  men  brought  him  a  stool  from  the  engine-room 
to  sit  down  upon. 

"When  did  it  break  in?"  he  asked.  "Where  does  it  come 
tTom  ?  We  have  never  had  any  trouble  from  water.  How  and 
where  did  you  strike  it  ?  " 

,  Nobody  knew.  It  was  an  inexplicable  mystery  to  all.  Of 
late,  in  the  sluggish  way  of  working  the  mine,  the  night  gangs 
had  been  taken  off  and  work  had  been  carried  on  only  during 
the  day.  On  the  evening  before,  the  miners  said,  they  had 
quitted  work  at  the  usual  hour  leaving  all  well  and  in  good  con 
dition.  "  The  mine  was  as  dry  as  a  bone,"  were  the  words  of 
the  man  who  told  him.  But  when  they  returned  in  the  morn 
ing  and  attempted  to  descend,  the  cage  had  plunged  into  water 
in  the  fifth  level,  and  some  of  the  men  were  nearly  drowned  be 
fore  it  could  be  drawn  up. 

"  A  perfect  lake  must  have  broken  in,"  said  the  man,  "  to 
have  filled  it  up  so  quickly.  It  is  really  wonderful." 

"Would  you  like  to  go  down  and  examine  it?"  asked  the 
engine-driver.  "  1  will  let  you  down  as  far  as  you  can  go." 

But  Mr.  Graham  was  utterly  discouraged,  and  could  scarcely 
rise  from  his  seat.  He  had  not  the  heart  to  look  this  new  dis 
aster  in  the  face.  Fortune  had  been  making  a  football  of 
him  so  long  that  he  had  become  almost  a  coward.  At  last, 
he  managed  to  get  up  and  stagger  back  to  his  rooms  at  the 
hotel.  There  he  found  Bloodstone  sitting  on  the  sofa  convers 
ing  with  Matilda  about  the  wedding  in  apparently  fine  spirits. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Edmond?''  said  Matilda,  on  seeing  him 
enter  with  his  blanched  face.  "What  has  happened  ?" 

Mr.  Graham  could  net  speak,  but  Bloodstone  answered,  — 

"Oh!"  he  said,  "I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  we  have  had  a 
wetting  down  this  morning.  A  little  moisture  in  the  mine,"  he 
continued,  seeing  all  turn  towards  him  as  if  for  explanation. 

"The  mine  is  flooded,"  said  Mr.  Graham,  m  answer  to  Ma 
tilda's  anxious  looks. 

The  wife  did  not  comprehend  the  extent  of  such  a  disaster, 
but  she  knew  well  from  the  countenance  of  her  husband  that  it 
must  be  serious. 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  Bloodstone,  with  a  laugh.     "Indeed  it 


222  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

is  not.     I  will  have  every  drop  of  water  out  of  that  as  soon  as 
we  get  back  from  our  wedding  tour." 

This  last  was  levelled  at  Helen,  who,  hearing  her  father's 
voice,  entered  the  room. 

Again  the  father  tried  to  explain  to  his  wife  and  daughter  that 
a  flooded  mine  involved  long  delays  and  great  additional  ex 
pense.  That  new  machinery  would  have  to  be  made  at  San 
Francisco,  expressly  to  clear  the  mine,  and  brought  over,  and 
put  up,  and  set  at  work,  before  any  more  explorations  could  be 
made.  That  this  was  a  great  disaster  even  to  a  successful  mine 
with  a  known  vein  of  ore,  and  that  to  a  doubtful  mine  it  was 
only  another  name  for  absolute  ruin. 

But  Bloodstone  would  not  listen  to  such  a  statement  of  the 
case.  It  was  absolutely  nothing ;  the  water  had  already  ceased 
rising,  and  only  the  lower  level  was  flooded.  The  mine  could 
soon  be  cleared,  and  the  work  resumed ;  that  he  would  proceed 
that  very  day  to  make  arrangements  for  pumps,  which  would 
soon  be  ready,  and  that  in  the  meantime  he  would  cut  off  all 
useless  expense,  by  discharging  the  hands,  —  all  excepting 
the  chief  men,  such  as  the  engineer,  the  head-miner,  or  fore 
man,  the  assayer.  and  two  or  three  men  to  watch  the  place. 
"We  will  have  things  put  to  rights,"  he  said,  "as  soon  as  our 
honeymoon  is  over  ;  won't  we,  Helen  ?  " 

The  young  lady  controlled  herself  as  well  as  she  could,  and 
answered  that  she  had  no  doubt  that  all  would  soon  be  well 
again. 

Mr.  Bloodstone  arose,  and  said  he  would  go  to  the  office  and 
write  to  the  agent  at  San  Francisco  about  the  pumps,  and  have 
them  ready  to  be  sent  to  the  Territory. 

Mr.  Graham  threw  himself  upon  the  sofa  in  the  deepest  de-; 
spair !  Nothing  like  this,  he  said,  had  ever  come  upon  him. 
He  could  not  see  his  way  through  it.  True,  Bloodstone  said 
that  he  would  stand  by  him,  and  go  on  with  the  work  as  soon 
as  the  wedding  was  over  ;  but  this  did  not  make  him  feel  any 
the  less  anxious.  If  they  had  ever  found  any  silver-ore  in  the 
mine,  he  should  feel  quite  different.  But  here  they  were  al 
ready  down  to  the  water  in  great  and  unknown  quantities,  and 
as  yet  not  even  the  appearance  of  ore.  Bloodstone  might 
think  he  would  go  on ;  but  when  he  should  come  back  from  the 
wedding-tour,  he  might  feel  altogether  differently. 

The  ladies  tried  to  comfort  him.  Helen  threw  her  arms 
about  him,  and  kissed  him  and  cried  over  him ;  Matilda  re 
counted  to  him  all  of  the  stories  of  Bloodstone's  generous 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  223 

deed?,  that  had  been  invented  by  her  Baby,  to  allay  the  invalid 
mother's  fears.  She  had  no  doubt  that  he  would  do  precisely 
as  he  had  promised  to  do.  He  was  one  of  the  noblest  of  men. 
His  chief  object  in  life,  —  so  she  had  heard,  and  how  she  had 
heard,  she  did  not  mention, —  had  been  to  search  for,  and  find  out 
gentlemen  in  difficulties, and  to  relieve  them;  to  advance  them 
money,  and  to  encourage  them  in  their  struggles ;  that  he  gloried 
in  such  work ;  that  if  he  should  discover  the  vein  for  Mr.  Graham, 
he  would  at  once  withdraw  all  claim  to  it,  and  go  away ;  wander 
ing  up  and  down,  without  rest,  till  he  should  find  somebody  else 
similarly  situated,  so  that  he  could  benefit  them.  Then  again, 
he  was  to  be  their  son,  —  he  was  to  be  their  precious  Baby's 
husband,  and  that  alone  would  be  such  a  tie,  that  he  would 
stand  by  them  through  good  and  evil  report.  All  of  this  was 
Helen  obliged  to  hear,  and  without  a  word  of  protest.  It  was 
only  the  repetition  of  her  own  words,  —  so  fabulous.  Oh,  she 
alone  knew  how  fabulous  ! 

In  the  afternoon,  the  extent,  though  not  the  cause,  of  the 
disaster  was  learned.  The  water  had  burst  in,  it  was  thought, 
from  the  fourth  level,  the  one  now  abandoned,  having  been 
found  to  contain  no  ore.  It  had  all  come  in  during  the  night ; 
and  now  the  supply  was  supposed  to  be  exhausted,  or  at  least 
it  rose  no  higher  than  to  flood  the  lower  or  fifth  level,  where 
the  work  was  being  carried  on,  and  to  extend  part  of  the  way  up 
the  main  shaft  towards  the  fourth  level.  The  matter  was  not 
serious  in  point  of  expense,  but  involved  some  delay,  while  the 
necessary  pumps  were  being  brought  up  from  San  Francisco. 
But  a  new  difficulty  had  been  met  with.  Noxious  gases,  so  it 
was  said,  had  made  their  appearance  in  the  drifts  and  chambers 
of  the  fourth  level,  probably  having  come  in  from  some  interior 
cavern,  perhaps  in  the  centre  of  the  mountain,  with  the  water 
that  had  poured  down  the  shaft  into  the  lower  level  ;  before 
work  could  be  resumed,  this  would  have  to  be  removed  or  neu 
tralized.  This,  however,  when  the  time  would  come  would  be 
but  a  comparatively  trifling  affair.  But  as  nothing  would  be 
gained  by  working  at  the  impure  air,  till  the  water  was  out.  and 
as  the  water  must  await  the  arrival  of  the  pumps,  Mr.  Bloodstone, 
on  consultation  with  the  engineer,  the  assayer,  and  the  chief- 
miner,  had  determined  to  close  up  the  mine  for  the  present. 

"  So  we  shall  have  a  regular  wedding-holiday,"  he  cried,  soon 
after  coming  into  Mrs.  Graham's  parlor.  "  And  after  the  honey 
moon  is  happily  spent,  we  will  come  back  here,  Helen,  and  set 
to  work  for  one  or  two  months,  and  pull  the  old  folks  through 


224  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

their  troubles,  and  set  them  on  their  legs  again.  That  done, 
we  will  leave  the  mountains  for  fairer  realms.  Eh,  Helen  ? 
what  do  you  say  ?  Does  that  suit  you  ?  " 

Helen  said  she  was  satisfied  with  whatever  was  agreeable  to 
her  father  and  mother ;  and  so  that  matter  was  by  Bloodstone 
soon  disposed  of. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

HOW  MINES  ARE  MANAGED  IN  WASHOE. 

THE  best  digested  plans  of  the  wisest  of  men  do  not  always 
prove  successful.  Miscarriages  and  disappointments  will,  at 
times,  come  upon  us,  that  human  foresight  seems  absolutely 
incapable  of  guarding  against.  These  facts  had  been  forcibly 
exemplified  to  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen,  president  of  the  Pac- 
tolus  Silver-Mining  Company,  and  to  his  associate  in  a  certain 
fraudulent  scheme,  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone.  These  gentlemen 
had  been  engaged  during  the  entire  winter  in  an  unsuccessful 
effort  to  put  in  execution  their  plans  with  respect  to  the  splen 
did  deposit  of  silver-ore,  known  by  them  to  exist  in  the  Graham 
mine. 

The  reader  will  remember  that,  when  in  that  mine,  on  a  cer 
tain  Sunday,  they  had  agreed  upon  a  scheme  by  which  the  ores 
was  to  be  taken  out  through  the  shaft  of  the  Pactolus  mine. 
But  to  do  this  for  their  individual  profit,  they  must  first  possess 
themselves  of  all,  or  nearly  all,  of  the  shares  of  that  mine. 
Now,  Mr.  Withergreen  was  too  old  a  stock-jobber  and  manipu 
lator  of  shares  to  ever  be,  under  any  ordinary  circumstances, 
the  owner  of  any  considerable  amount  of  them,  except  just 
before  an  election.  Of  course,  at  such  a  time  he  would  buy 
them  in  quantities  sufficient  to  vote  himself  into  the  control  of 
the  mine  for  the  ensuing  year.  That  once  accomplished,  shares 
were  to  him  not  only  useless,  they  were  worse.  They  were  a  posi- 
,  tive  detriment.  For  while  he  owned  the  shares,  the  profits  of  the 
I  niine,  if  any  were  earned,  justly  belonged  to  himself.  To  ap 
propriate  these  profits  in  such  cases  to  his  own  benefit,  was  but 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  225 

to  take  his  own.  That  is  a  financial  operation,  reasoned  Mr. 
Withergreen,  of  which  the  most  ordinary  mind  is  capable.  It 
is,  perhaps,  the  first  idea  that  dawns  upon  the  understanding  ^ 
of  the  man  of  business  just  embarking  in  his  career.  It  is 
primitive  in  character  and  exceedingly  simple  in  detail.  It  re 
quires  for  its  accomplishment  neither  learning  nor  genius.  It 
is  well  enough  for  beginners. 

But  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen  had  got  far  beyond  all  such  sim 
ple  and  natural  operations  as  that.  He  looked  upon  them  with 
absolute  contempt.  It  was,  in  his  judgment,  no  better  than  the 
case  of  a  man  stealing  money  out  of  one  of  his  pockets  and 
hiding  it  in  the  other;  anybody  could  do  it.  There  was 
another  difficulty  connected  with  the  ownership  of  shares.  . 
They  were  subject  to  calls  for  certain  fixed  sums  assessed  by  ^ 
the  presidents  and  boards  of  directors  against  them,  for  the 
purpose  of  carrying  on  the  work.  "  Irish  dividends,"  these 
were  called,  in  the  cant  language  of  the  stock  market.  When 
these  calls  were  likely  to  be  made,  a  president  or  director  of 
foresight,  would  not  think  of  owning  shares.  His  would  al 
ways  have  gone  into  the  market,  and  have  sold  before  the 
publication  of  an  assessment.  No  sensible  man  would  think 
of  assessing  his  own  stock.  Besides,  the  money  collected  on 
the  calls  came  directly  into  the  hands  of  the  president  for 
disbursement,  and  were,  to  him,  a  more  certain  source  of  profit 
than  the  varying  and  spasmodic  results  of  digging  and  reducing 
ore.  Unless  the  deposit  of  silver  was  quite  rich  it  was  always 
better  to  have  none  at  all.  A  mine  with  absolutely  no  ore, 
and  no  pretence  of  ore,  was  always  more  profitable  than  one  * 
that  paid  only  a  trifle  beyond  the  working  expenses.  Such  a 
mine  gave  no  margin  for  ingenuity,  as  stealing  was  called.  A 
discovery  of  silver  in  paying  quantities,  greatly  complicated  the 
processes  by  which  the  gains  of  the  management  were  obtained. 
It  was  no  longer  the  simple  formula  of  levying  and  collecting 
assessments,  and  fabricating  false  vouchers  and  fictitious  annual 
or  quarterly  balances.  But  arrangements  had  to  be  made  with 
mill  owners,  for  crushing  the  ore  ;  and,  in  order  to  induce  these 
men  to  sign  and  swear  to  fabricated  statements  of  the  yield,  a  t^ 
considerable  portion  of  the  precious  metals  had  to  be  spread 
upon  them,  in  the  way  of  a  healing  balm  to  their  tender  sensi 
bilities.  In  short,  the  inconveniences  of  having  a  paying  mine 
to  manage,  were  almost  endless.  While,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  management  of  a  mine  that  was  simply  being  explored,  in 
search  of  metals,  was  a  pleasant  position,  where  nearly  all  was 


226  ROBERT  CREATHOUSE. 

profit,  and  but  few  questions  were  asked.  Directly  after  an 
election  to  the  presidency  or  directorship  of  any  of  the  mines 
in  the  fingers  of  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen,  his  plan  had  always 
been  invariably  to  first  pretend  that  great  discoveries  had  been 
made,  followed  by  a  dividend,  then  to  borrow  money  from  the 
bank  to  pay  the  dividend  with ;  this  would,  generally,  put  the 
stock  up  to  a  good  price,  whereupon,  his  shares  would  all  go 
upon  the  market,  and  be  sold.  Then  would  come  an  assess 
ment,  to  raise  money  to  pay  the  bank  for  the  borrowed  money, 
followed  by  more  assessments  or  false  dividends,  throughout 
the  year,  as  his  interests  might  seem  to  require,  till  the  period 
of  another  election  approached.  Now,  for  the  first  time  in  a 
year,  he  would  be  obliged  to  own  a  large  number  of  the  com 
panies'  shares.  That  is  to  say,  a  majority  of  one  share  over 
one  half  the  amount  of  the  capital  stock.  This  must  be  pur 
chased  to  the  best  advantage.  The  first  move  would  now 
be  to  issue  an  annual  statement  of  the  condition  of  the  mine, 
artfully  drawn  with  a  view  to  depress  the  value  of  the  shares. 
It  would  either  openly  proclaim  that  the  vein  had  been  lost 
for  the  time,  or  it  would  announce  that  a  large  call  for  money 
must  be  at  once  made  for  some  expenses  necessary  for  the 
further  prosecution  of  the  process  of  development.  This,  of 
course,  would  be  followed  by  the  assessment,  published  with  a 
grand  nourish  in  all  the  newspapers.  Then  the  shares  held  by 
the  president  or  his  friends  would  be  thrown  upon  the  market, 
and  sold  at  some  very  low  price.  The  market  was  now  pre 
pared  for  Mr.  Withergreen  to  secure  his  re-election  for  another 
year  ;  a  year  to  be  followed  by  management  precisely  similar  to 
the  one  preceding. 

The  reader  will  remember  that  Mr.  Withergreen  had  prom 
ised  Bloodstone,  in  the  chamber  of  the  Graham  mine,  to  clap 
on  an  assessment,  and  knock  the  stock  down,  so  that  they 
could  have  it  all  in  a  short  time,  and  at  their  own  price.  The 
reason  for  this  course  was  obvious  to  them  both.  The  exca 
vation  in  the  fourth  level  had  disclosed  a  mass  of  ore  of  almost 
unparalleled  richness  and  breadth.  Similar  bodies,  known  as 
"chimneys"  had  been  discovered  in  one  or  two  other  places, 
on  the  Comstock  lode,  and  they  had  yielded  such  enormous 
sums,  that  all  connected  with  them  had  gained  princely  fortunes 
in  a  few  month's  time.  Mr.  Withergreen  had  convinced  him 
self,  in  half  an  hour  after  entering  the  chamber  where  he  found 
Enoch  Bloodstone,  that  his  whole  system  of  the  management 
of  mines  must  be  changed,  with  respect  to  this  one.  No  such 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  227 

vast  quantities  of  silver  ore  as  it  evidently  contained  could  be 
hoisted  up  through  his  shaft,  and  by  any  possibility  afterwards 
concealed.  Some  of  it,  a  great  deal  of  it,  must  go  into  the 
pockets  of  the  shareholders  of  the  Pactolus,  through  whose  shaft 
it  must  come  to  the  surface,  and  whose  workmen  must  dig  it 
out,  no  matter  what  precaution  he  might  take  to  prevent  such 
a  result.  The  capabilities  of  a  mining  management  for  absorb 
ing,  misapplying,  swallowing  up,  stealing  the  proceeds  of  the 
mine,  were  vast,  almost  boundless.  Hitherto,  they  had  been 
deemed  to  be  sufficient  for  any  emergency  that  could  ever 
arise.  But  as  Mr.  Withergreen  sat  in  the  chamber,  and  gazed 
at  the  glistening  mass  of  ore,  blue  with  chloride,  and  spangled  v, 
and  bristling  with  "horn  silver,"  his  vast  genius  was  dazed,  and 
confessed  itself,  at  last,  met  and  vanquished. 

"  Bloodstone,"  he  said,  "  here  is  a  mine  that  must  be  honestly 
managed.  Absolutely,  it  will  pay  to  own  the  stock,  and  take 
care  of  it."  Nothing  like  it  had  ever  come  to  him  before,  i/ 
and  it  will  not  be  a  matter  of  wonder,  when  we  say  that  he  did 
not  know  precisely  how  to  act.  He  knew  what  ought  to  be 
done ;  but  the  difficulty  lay  in  carrying  out  quickly  and 
securely,  the  necessary  plans.  He  must  own  the  stock  ;  but 
the  process  of  obtaining  it  was  necessarily  slow  and  difficult ; 
he  must  repeat  a  well-known  trick  in  California  and  Washoe, 
called  "  freezing  out  shareholders."  He  had  frozen  out  thou 
sands  of  them  in  his  time,  and  believed  he  knew  how  to  go 
about  it.  His  judgment,  formed  upon  a  long  experience,  told 
him  that  he  must  own  every  share  of  the  capital  stock  of  the 
Pactolus  mine,  before  he  could  dare  to  commence  his  scheme  of 
stealing  Mr.  Graham's  ore,  and  hoisting  it  out  of  the  shaft  of  his 
company.  His  refrigerator  must  be  put  into  immediate  oper-V' 
ation  to  freeze  out  the  Pactolus  shareholders,  lest  they  partici 
pate  in  the  spoils  of  the  robbery  of  the  rival  mine.  Each  share 
that  would  escape  him,  he  felt,  would  be  so  much  money  lost 
out  of  his  own  pocket ;  but,  how  to  do  it  ?  That  had  been,  all 
of  these  months,  the  perplexing  difficulty.  His  course  had,  at 
first,  appeared  plain  enough.  He  took  the  old  beaten  path, 
always  followed  when  freezing  out  is  to  be  accomplished. 

Within  a  week  after  the  interview  between  Bloodstone  and 
the  president  of  the  Pactolus  Silver-Mining  Company  in  the 
Graham  Mine,  the  columns  of  the  daily  Virginia  City  Quartz 
Crusher,  as  well  as  the  other  journals,  both  in  that  town  and  at  ^ 
Carson  City,  the  capital  of  the  Territory,  were  filled  with  lead 
ing  articles,  all  showing  conclusively  that  there  was  but  one  vein 


228  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

of  ore  in  Mount  Davidson,  and  that  all  mines  not  located  upon 
a  direct  central  line  therein  described  must  prove  absolutely 
worthless.  The  next  day  followed  more  editorial  comments, 
this  time  pointing  out  the  mines  by  name  that  could  never  by 
any  possibility  prove  profitable.  Amongst  them  the  Pactolus 
was  pointed  out  as  a  notable  example.  It  was  certain  that  this 
mine  would  very  soon  be  abandoned,  and  very  properly  so. 
That  all  money  expended  in  its  development  must  be  totally  lost. 
Two  days  after,  letters  from  Washoe  correspondents  began  to  ap 
pear  in  the  San  Francisco  journals.  "  Knowing  One"  wrote  to  the 
Daily  Smasher  that  the  Pactolus  was  to  be  abandoned  as  worth- 
,  less.  "  Smarty,  from  Mud  Springs,"  the  correspondent  of  the 
/  Evening  Vindicator  of  Constitutional  Liberty  and  Mining  Gaz 
ette,  had  found  out  positively  that  it  was  all  up  with  the  Pacto 
lus,  and  that  nothing  more  was  to  be  done  except  to  call  in  a 
large  assessment  to  pay  off  outstanding  debts,  and  then  it 
would  be  closed  up.  "  Borax  "  wrote  editorially  to  the  Sunday 
Morning  Snort  of  Defiance  and  Sporting  Press,  that  he  had 
seen  the  list  of  calls,  and  that  the  assessment  had  been  fixed 
purposely  at  an  immensely  large  sum.  That  this  had  been 
done  by  the  management  in  order  to  clear  away  all  liabilities, 
so  that  no  'suits  could  hereafter  be  brought  to  harass  or  annoy 
shareholders  in  their  individual  capacity  after  the  disincbrpora- 
tion  and  dissolution  of  the  company.  That  this  step  had  not 
been  finally  agreed  upon  until  the  first  geologist  and  scientific 
man  of  the  age,  Professor  Vitriol,  had  at  a  considerable  expense 
made  a  thorough  and  careful  examination  of  the  mine,  and  had 
ascertained,  beyond  the  chance  of  a  doubt,  that  there  was  no 
argentiferous  or  other  valuable  metallic  deposit  within  a  radius 
extending  five  hundred  feet  beyond  the  utmost  outside  bounds 
of  the  company's  ground.  Then  came  the  list  of  calls  in  all  of 
the  papers,  occupying  each  two  whole  columns  usually  devoted 
to  editorial  and  leading  matter.  Twenty  dollars  a  share  had 
been  assessed,  four  times  as  much  as  had  ever  been  raised  at 
one  call  before. 

This  done,  Mr.  Withergreen  considered  the  ground  cleared 
for  operations  in  the  stock  board.  He  telegraphed  in  cipher 
I  to  Mr.  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon,  his  broker,  at  San  Francisco,  to 
sell  for  him  one  hundred  shares  of  Pactolus  stock,  at  prices  not 
beyond  five  dollars  each,  and  to  run  the  price  down  to  two  dol 
lars  a  share  by  his  sales.  This  done  he  was  to  inform  his  prin 
cipal  by  telegraph  of  the  result.  The  price  of  Pactolus  in  the 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  229 

Boar.d,  up  to  this  moment,  had  been  twenty  dollars  a  share.     In 
an  hour  he  received  a  reply  to  his  telegram. 

San  Francisco  Stock  and  Exchange  Board,  11:54  A.  M. 
Marvin  Withergreen,  Esq. —  Sold  for  your  account  hundred 
shares  Pactolus,  cash,  at  average  three  dollars.  Great  excite-  ^ 
ment  in  Board.  Shares  advanced  in  ten  minutes  to  one  hun 
dred  and  sixty  dollars.  Still  rising.  I  await  instructions.  V. 
Gudgeon." 

Withergreen  was  astounded  at  the  receipt  of  this  dispatch. 
He  knew  positively  that  there  was  no  silver  or  precious  ore  of 
any  sort  in  the  Pactolus  ground.  He  had  long,  in  fact  had  al 
ways,  suspected  such  to  be  the  case,  but  now  that  he  had  seen  the 
rich  "  chimney  "  in  the  Graham  Mine  he  knew  that  the  vein  did 
not  go  through  the  claim,  nor  indeed  any  nearer  to  it  than  sev 
eral  hundred  feet.  But  in  spite  of  all  of  this,  here  was  the 
stock  rising,  in  face  of  a  call  for  contributions  on  the  shares 
equal  to  the  full  market  value  of  the  stock  at  the  time  it  was 
imposed. 

Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen  could  not  at  first  understand  this ; 
it  was  to  him  a  new  phase  in  the  features  of  mines. 

But  the  reader  will  no  doubt  have  already  suspected  the  cause 
of  the  unexpected  rise.  The  same  thing  has  occurred  many 
times  since  in  the  history  of  Washoe  mines,  and  is  now  well 
understood  and  calculated  upon.  It  was  then  new.  The 
President  of  the  Pactolus  had  played  his  "  freezing  out"  game  ^ 
once  too  often.  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen  had  become 
thoroughly  known  to  the  share  operating  public  as  a  man 
wholly  unscrupulous,  and  who  would  shrink  at  nothing.  This 
fact  had  not  been  taken  into  account  by  him  in  laying  his  plans. 
Like  the  ostrich  that  hides  its  head  in  the  sand  when  pursued, 
he  had  thought  himself  in  concealment  when  in  fact  he  was  be 
coming  rapidly  known  in  his  true  character.  People  had 
watched  the  too  obvious  effort  to  herald  the  disastrous  condi 
tion  of  the  Pactolus,  and  suspected  that  it  was  not  without 
cause.  "  It  is  a  '  bearing '  operation,"  whispered  the  knowing 
ones.  The  truth  was,  that  in  the  anxiety  of  Withergreen  it  had 
been  altogether  overdone.  "  He  has  struck  it,  the  sly  fox,"  said 
the  "San  Francisco  sharps."  "  He  has  found  the  Comstock vein  / 
that  old  Graham  has  been  so  long  hunting  for,"  said  the  stock 
gamblers  in  confidence  to  each  other.  And  so  they  all  gave  se 
cret  orders  to  buy  Pactolus  at  any  price.  "  I  always  thought 
Pactolus  was  good,"  they  all  said,  and  up  went  the  stock. 

Withergreen' s  hundred  shares  had  been  all  swallowed  up  like 


230  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

a  handful  of  bread  crumbs  thrown  to  a  tank  of  hungry  carp. 
He  was  now,  as  he  expressed  it  to  Bloodstone,  "in  a  nice 
mess."  All  the  stock  he  had  kept  over  from  last  year's  elec 
tions  as  a  nest-egg  had  been  thrown  away,  and  he  was  now 
without  any  actual  interest  in  the  mine. 

To  make  matters  worse,  at  the  afternoon  sale  in  the  Board, 
shares  still  went  higher.  The  next  day  a  telegram  from  Gud 
geon  announded  the  price  to  be  one  thousand  dollars  a  share, 
and  none  for  sale  at  that.  The  petard  had  been  fired  too  soon, 
and  the  engineer  was  already  flying  high  in  the  air.  There  was 
no  use  trying  to  buy  shares.  Where  was  he  to  get  the  money 
to  buy  up  a  controlling  interest  in  the  mine  at  these  prices  ? 
While  any  attempt  on  his  part  to  do  so  now  would  only  aggra 
vate  the  evil.  Mr.  Withergreen  had  been  long  enough  inter 
ested  in  Washoe  mines  to  know  that  to  have  one  share  less  than 
a  majority  of  the  stock  in  a  paying  mine,  that  is  a  mine  really 
worked  for  dividends,  is  just  so  much  worse  than  having  no 
stock  at  all,  as  is  represented  by  the  difference  that  has  been 
paid  to  get  the  number  of  shares  on  hand,  added  to  the  addi 
tional  liability  incurred  by  the  ownership  for  the  company's 
debts.  It  was  obvious  that  the  steps  taken  so  far  to  put  down 
j  the  shares  had  failed  hopelessly.  But  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen 
was  a  man  full  of  expedients,  and  he  was  by  no  means  ex 
hausted.  The  election  would  not  take  place  till  the  following 
October.  Till  that  time  he  held  the  mine  in  his  control  as 
effectually  as  a  cat  holds  a  mouse.  He  waited  a  few  days  to 
see  if  the  San  Francisco  shareholders  would  not  begin  to  grow 
anxious  and  relax  their  notions.  But  no  ;  Gudgeon  telegraphed 
daily  advances,  and  now  the  shares  were  firm  at  twelve  hun- 
dren  dollars  the  share.  At  this  price  a  sufficient  number  to 
control  the  mine  would  cost  a  sum  far  up  in  the  millions. 

That  night  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen  walked  into  the  mine 
alone,  with  a  lantern,  a  hammer,  and  a  steel  chisel ;  an  axe 
and  a  crowbar  were  ready  to  his  hand  at  the  bottom. 

The  next  morning  telegrams,  both  public  and  private,  an- 
/  nounced  in  the  stock  board  at  San  Francisco  that  the  Pactolus 
was  flooded  with  fifty  feet  of  water  in  the  lower  level. 

The  announcement  was  made  by  Mr.  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon, 
and  he  remained  standing  for  a  moment  to  watch  the  effect  of  the 
news.  But,  before  he  could  survey  over  half  the  room,  the 
j  shrill  voice  of  Jack  McKinty  was  heard  to  call  out  fifteen  hun 
dred  dollars  a  share  for  any  part  of  one  thousand  shares.  But 
no  answer.  Gudgeon  had  none  to  sell,  and  no  one  else  seemed 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  231 

inclined  to  part  with  what  they  had.  Sixteen  hundred,  seven 
teen  hundred,  eighteen  hundred  dollars  a  share  for  any  part  of 
a  thousand  shares,  was  called  in  quick  succession  ;  and  at  one 
o'clock  Mr.  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon  telegraphed  to  his  principal 
that  Pactolus  was  quick  at  twenty-two  hundred  dollars  a  share.  v 
and  that  he  still  awaited  further  instructions  before  purchasing 
for  that  gentlemen's  account. 

Great  was  the  fun  and  sharp  the  sarcasm  levelled  at  Mr. 
Marvin  Withergreen,  by  the  San  Francisco  stock  brokers,  for 
his  clumsy  attempts  to  pull  the  wool  over  their  eyes.  Tele 
grams  were  sent  over  to  him  by  dozens,  generally  not  prepaid, 
signed  by  "  Jakey  Buyer  thirty,"  or  "  Billy  '  Corner,'  "  or  equally 
facetious  names,  with  mock  advice  as  to  what  steps  to  take 
next  in  "bearing"  the  stock. 

"  Don't  have  an  earthquake  'in  the  mine  !  "  cries  one.  "If 
you  do,  the  stock  will  go  to  four  thousand  dollars." 

"  Watch  your  fires  closely,"  is  the  solemn  advice  of  another. 
"  If  your  hoisting  shed  burns  down,  the  shorts  will  all  be 
ruined." 

"I  have  sold  a  thousand  shares,    'seller  thirty,' " 'groans  a  * 
third  unpaid   dispatch.     "  For   suffering   humanity's  sake,  rob 
the  mail  and  declare  a  slapping  dividend  with  the  *  swag,'  so 
that  I  can  fill  and  get  out." 

The  conspirators  were  stupefied.  They  saw  their  mistake, 
but  too  late  to  avoid  the  consequence.  There  was  no  help 
for  it  now ;  they  must  wait,  and  play  a  policy  of  masterly 
inactivity. 

At  a  later  period  in  Washoe  mines,  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen 
would  have  commenced  his  "freezing  out"  process,  not  by  an  \/ 
assessment  and   lamentation  of  despair,  but   by  a   handsome 
dividend,  and  a  startling  report  of  fresh  discoveries. 

Now,  nothing  knocks  down  a  stock  so  rapidly  as  an  unex 
pected  dividend,  or  the  favorable  termination,  or  compromise 
and  settlement  of  a  long  and  expensive  lawsuit,  involving  the 
title  to  the  mine.  The  reason  of  this  is,  that,  even  if  the  mine 
has  been  managed  reasonably  honest,  according  to  the  very 
loose  and  vague  code  of  mining  corporation  morals,  still  this  / 
dividend  or  this  compromise  will  prove  to  have  been  the  event, 
upon  the  happening  of  which,  most  of  the  stock-holders  had 
long  intended  to  "unload,"  as  they  call  it.  That  is,  to  sell  off 
the  shares,  and  get  rid  of  the  whole  business,  of  which,  gener 
ally,  they  are  heartily  disgusted.  So  hundreds  of  shares  are  at 
once  thrown  upon  the  market,  and  the  anomaly  is  seen  of  a 


232  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

stock  tumbling   down   in  the  face    of  unexpectedly  favorable 
reports. 

Again,  the  universal  want  of  confidence  in  the  managers, 
^  justified,  we  fear,  by  too  many  facts  in  past  history,  causes 
stock-holders  to  doubt  the  good  faith  of  almost  every  announce 
ment,  whether  it  comes  in  the  shape  of  good  or  bad  news. 
This  will  be  always  the  case  so  long  as  joint  stock  companies,  — 
and  this  applies  as  well  to  all  other  enterprises  as  to  mining 
operations,  —  are  managed  in  the  interest  of  stock-jobbers,  in 
stead  of  being  worked  for  the  legitimate  business  for  which  they 
were  created. 

From  the  time  of  the  flooding  of  the  Pactolus  mine  in  the 
winter,  the  conspirators,  Withergreen,  Bloodstone,  and  their 
three  or  four  associates,  had  had  daily  meetings  for  consulta 
tion  ;  but,  as  yet,  no  further  progress  had  been  made  towards 
securing  the  great  prize  that  lay  at  their  very  finger-ends. 
There  was  the  body  of  precious  metals,  but  how  to  get  it 
out,  for  their  own  benefit,  remained  still  an  unsolved 
problem^ 

Bloodstone  was  especially  embarrassed  by  the  fact  that  he 
was  obliged,  all  of  this  time,  to  continue  working  gangs  of  men 
in  the  fifth  level  of  the  Graham  mine,  upon  work  which  could 
not,  by  any  possibility,  advance  his  interests,  and  was  so  much 
money,  each  day,  thrown  away,  as  a  dead  loss. 

But  all  of  this  he  bore  up  with  very  stoutly,  until  the  day 
that  he  obtained  of  Helen  Graham  the  promise  of  marriage. 
But  this  once  agreed  upon,  his  interests  were  wholly  changed. 
/  Once  married  to  her,  every  ounce  of  silver  taken  out  of  the 
mine  and  turned  over  to  the  president  of  the  Pactolus,  and  the 
other  conspirators,  was  so  much  money  taken  from  his  own 
estate,  and  given  away.  His  plans  were  at  once  modified  to1 
suit  the  new  order  of  things. 

He  would  conceal  his  intended  marriage,  and  the  moment  it 
was  completed,  he  would  disclose  the  whole  conspiracy  to  Mr. 
Graham,  excusing  his  conduct  as  well  as  he  could  by  his  love 
for  Helen,  and  the  fear  he  had  entertained  of  losing  her,  and  so 
break  up  all  the  schemes  of  Withergreen.  It  was  for  this  rea 
son  that  he  so  readily  fell  into  the  agreement  to  keep  the  en- 
/  gagement  a  family  secret ;  for,  otherwise,  his  vanity,  which  was 
the  chief  cause  of  his  pursuing  the  young  lady,  would  have 
been  more  gratified  by  noising  the  event  to  the  world. 

He  assured  Withergreen,  who  had  some  misgivings  upon  this 
point,  that  he  had  proposed,  and  had  been  rejected  by  her. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  233 

He  was  now  full  of  bitterness,  so  he  declared,  and  only  wanted 
to  be  revenged  upon  the  lady  for  the  slight  she  had  put  upon 
him.  He  had  been  led  on  by  the  Grahams  to  expend  a  large 
sum  in  developing  the  mine,  upon  the  promise  of  the  father 
that  he  should  have  the  daughter  in  marriage,  and  now  he  had 
been  both  cheated  and  jilted.  This  was  the  more  readily  be 
lieved  by  Withergreen,  because  he  had  seen  something  of 
Helen  Graham,  and  thought  he  understood  her  character.  He 
had  never  believed  that  such  a  girl  could  be  induced,  by  any 
possible  consideration,  to  throw  herself  away  upon  such  a  man 
as  Enoch  Bloodstone. 

He,  therefore,  saw  nothing  in  the  pretended  fury  of  that 
gentleman,  except  the  natural  indignation  of  a  disappointed 
man,  who  had  met  with  precisely  the  rebuff  which  he  had  fore 
seen  from  the  first  would  occur  to  him. 

Bloodstone  saw  full  well  that  several  months  of  delay  must 
occur  before  the  Pactolus  stock  could  be  reduced  to  reasonable 
prices  and  bought  up  by  Withergreen,  although  that  gentleman 
had  actually  been  buying  it,  in  his  desperation,  at  prices  that 
would  have  been  thought  absurd  when  he  first  commenced  his 
"  bearing  "  operations. 

"  Long  before  Withergreen  can  secure  enough  of  the  Pacto 
lus  shares  to  justify  him  in  commencing  work  on  the  rich 
'chimney'  in  Mr.  Graham's  mine,"  reasoned  Bloodstone,  to  ,/ 
himself,  "  Helen  will  be  my  wife,  and  then  I  will  assert  my 
rights,  and  defy  the  whole  gang  of  scoundrels  who  now  have  me 
in  their  power." 

But  he  satisfied  Withergreen  by  making  plausible  complaints 
of  his  slow  movements  and  evinced  an  anxiety  to  see  matters 
make  greater  progress. 

"I  cannot  much  longer  keep  these  unnecessary  gangs  at 
work  on  the  fifth  level,"  he  said  to  the  president  of  the  Pactolus ; 
"  they  are  eating  me  out  of  house  and  home." 

"Why  do  you  keep  them  at  work?"  answered  the  other, 
bluntly.  "  You  are  a  great  fool  for  your  pains.  I  would  stop 
them  soon  enough,  if  I  were  you." 

"  How  ?"  inquired  Bloodstone.  "  To  do  it,  I  must  find  some 
excuse  to  satisfy  old  Graham." 

"  Have  you  no  water  in  your  mine  ?  Do  as  I  did  to  knock 
down  Pactolus.  Cut  your  pipes  and  plug  up  your  drains. 
That  is  the  best  way.  You  can  always  pump  it  out  again  when 
you  want  to  resume  work.  Only  fill  the  fifth  level ;  our  ore  is 
above  that.  It  will  not  be  in  our  way  when  we  get  to  work." 


234  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

This  conversation  took  place  a  few  days  before  the  events  nar 
rated  in  the  last  chapter.  The  reader  has  seen  how  carefully  the 
plan  was  carried  out  and  how  the  mine  was  closed.  Mr.  Blood 
stone  now  had  his  plans  all  perfected  by  which  he  was  to  get 
the  better  of  all  the  parties  with  whom  he  was  engaged,  and  he 
possessed  the  advantage,  at  least,  that  he  knew  everybody's 
plans  and  everybody's  intentions,  which  surely  was  no  trifle. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CHARLEY   HUNTER   OBTAINS    EMPLOYMENT. 

A  WEEK  was  still  to  elapse  before  the  day  appointed  for  the 
wedding — a  week  full  of  struggles  and  conflicting  hopes 
of  efforts  to  do  and  to  undo.  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen, 
through  his  broker,  Mr.  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon,  was  straining 
his  efforts  towards  "bearing"  Pactolus  and  buying  up  its 
stock.  This  affair  made  haste  too  slowly  too  keep  pace 
with  Mr.  Withergreen's  rushing  desires.  Mr.  Edmond  Gra 
ham  was  occupied  in  corresponding  with  his  agent,  or  rather 
Mr.  Bloodstone's  agent,  for  so  in  reality  it  was,  about  steam- 
pumps  which  were  to  be  made  as  speedily  as  possible  and  for 
warded  over  the  mountain  to  free  his  mine  from  water.  Mr. 
Bloodstone  was  waiting,  impatiently,  his  wedding-day  —  the  day 
which  was  to  add  to  his  fortunes  the  possession  of  the  most  beau 
tiful  woman  in  the  country  and  whose  conquest  was  to  crown 
his  career  with  the  final  stamp  of  perfect  success  in  the  eyes 
of  many  who  had  long  looked  upon  it  with  sneering  and  con 
temptuous  doubt  and  unbelief.  The  same  day  was  also  to  put 
him  in  possession,  practically,  of  a  fortune  of  untold  extent,  in 
the  substantial  ownership  of  the  Graham  mine  freed  from  the 
schemes  of  Withergreen  and  his  fellow-conspirators.  Matilda 
Graham  was  waiting  in  dread  and  horror  for  the  expected  tap 
of  this  slaughterer  of  innocents  at  the  door  of  her  nursery,  de 
manding  her  first-born  at  her  hands.  Helen  Graham  alone  of 
them  all  was  waiting  for  nothing.  Her  fate  had  already  come. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  235 

The  day  she  had  had  her  future  seized  and  wrested  from  her 
by  Enoch  Bloodstone,  and  had  told  her  father  that  she  consent 
ed  to  the  sacrifice,  was,  she  felt,  her  last  day  of  joyous  girlhood 
in  this  life.  She  was  no  longer  the  loving,  the  timid,  the 
doubting  maiden  that  her  age,  and  sex,  and  gentle  organization 
and  training  had  made  her,  looking  forward  with  wondering 
expectation,  with  hopeful  curiosity  to  the  good  or  evil  that 
might  betide  her  in  the  future.  She  was  one  who  had  been, 
five  dreary  weeks  before,  cast  away,  and  all  the  time  had 
been  drifting  about  without  rudder  or  compass  upon  the  dark 
and  bitter  waters  of  despair.  She  had  nothing  to  wait  for  ;  one 
day  to  her  was  like  another,  for  all  were  equally  dreary 
and  desolate.  She  kept  her  room  now,  constantly,  not  even 
going  to  the  dining-room  for  her  meals,  though  the  absentation 
would  have  resulted  to  most  people,  in  something  very  like  star 
vation,  so  difficult  was  it  to  be  served  in  private.  But  Helen 
had  no  appetite,  and  wanted  but  a  small  quantity  of  food  to  keep 
together  what  little  of  life  was  left  to  her.  She  knew,  instinc 
tively,  that  Greathouse  was  each  day  walking  up  and  down  the 
hall,  hoping  to  speak  to  her,  —  to  even  look  at  her.  She  could 
hear  his  weary  tramp  as  he  passed  before  her  door,  on  pretence 
of  going  here  or  there,  the  hollowness  of  which  subterfuge  was 
known  best  to  her.  But  she  stirred  not  from  her  door.  He 
might  have  opened  and  come  in,  had  he  chosen  to  do  so,  but 
she  knew  better  than  any  one  else  that  he  would  never  do  that. 
She  did  not  want  to  see  him.  She  did  not  dare  to  meet  his  eye. 
So  she  let  him  march  up  and  down  in  his  dreary  march,  till, 
at  last,  he  would  wander  away  into  the  town  in  search  of  relief 
from  the  exhaustion  produced  by  constant  disappointment. 
One  day,  after  he  had  thus  taken  his  departure  from  the  pass 
age-way,  she  ventured  out  for  some  purpose,  and,  to  her  sur 
prise,  met  him.  He  had  again  started  away,  and,  upon 
second  thoughts,  had  returned  with  the  desperate  resolution 
of  renewing  his  watch  for  her. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Graham  !"•  he  said,  abruptly. 

She  returned  his  salute  as  well  as  she  could. 

"  I  hope  you  are  well,  Colonel  Greathouse." 

"Yes,  thank  you!"  he  answered,  but  without  further  noticing 
her  inquiry,  he  continued,  "  I  have  been  anxious  to  see  you, 
Miss  Graham,  to  say  good-by.  I  am  going  away  for  a  few 
weeks." 

"  Going  away  ?  "  she  asked.     "  Whither  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  out  on  an  expedition  against  the  Indians.    They 


236  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

have  been  committing  so  many  depredations  of  late,  down  on 
the  Truck ee  and  over  towards  the  Humboldt,  that,  unless  pun 
ished,  the  settlers  will  be  either  all  killed  or  driven  away.  A 
company  of  rangers  is  now  being  organized  to  go  against  them, 
and  I  have  volunteered  to  be  one  of  the  expedition." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  are  going  away,  Colonel  Greathouse." 
She  said  this  before  she  thought.  Then  she  blushed  to  the  eyes 
at  the  thought  of  her  indiscretion.  She  had,  somehow,  looked 
upon  the  presence  of  Greathouse  as  a  sort  of  protection  to  them 
all  in  the  last  resort.  Protection  against  what,  she  did  not 
know,  but  still  a  brave  heart  and  strong  arm  to  be  always  at 
her  service. 

"I  will  not  go,"  he  said,  gravely,  "if  you  wish  me  to  remain 
here." 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  she  said,  blushing  deeper  than  ever,  "I  would  not 
think  of  interfering  with  your  plans." 

"  I  have  no  plans,  miss,  that  are  of  any  consequence  to  me. 
I  only  go  because  I  have  nothing  to  keep  me  here.  It  will  be 
a  change  from  the  monotony  of  town  life,  to  which  I  have  never 
been  much  accustomed.  I  will  gladly  stay,  Miss  Graham,  if  I 
can  be  of  any  service  to  you." 

This  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  a  tone  of  earnestness 
that  caused  Helen  for  a  moment  to  think  that  he  had  already 
fathomed  her  heart,  and  knew  that  she  was  in  deep  trouble. 

"  I  know  your  kind  feeling  towards  me,  Colonel  Greathouse; 
I  have  seen  it  from  the  first.  If  I  were  really  in  need  of  a  friend, 
I  would  turn  to  no  one  quicker  than  to  you ;  but  I  need  noth 
ing  now." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  you  tell  me  all,  Miss  Graham  ?"  he  asked, 
looking  at  her  with  a  searching  look. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  but  evading  his  eye.  "  I  need  nothing  that 
I  cannot  have,  I  assure  you,  Colonel  Greathouse." 

"  Then  good-by,  Miss  Graham,"  said  he,  extending  his  hand. 
"  But  remember  what  you  have  just  said,  for  I  shall  not  forget 
it ;  that  if  you  need  a  friend,  you  will  look  to  me  as  soon  as  to 
another." 

She  took  his  hand  in  hers.  "I  will  not  forget  it,  Colonel 
Greathouse,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice ;  "  good-by,  sir,  and  Heaven 
bring  you  safely  home  again." 

She  returned  to  her  room  feeling  a  greater  sense  of  loneliness 
than  she  had  felt  since  she  had  been  living  in  the  Territory. 
She  sat  down  by  the  window  and  looked  out.  When  she  had 
been  there  half  an  hour,  she  saw  Charley  Hunter.  He  was 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  237 

Charley  was  a  bright,  intelligent  lad  fifteen  years  old.  He 
had  been  introduced  to  Helen  by  Greathouse  when  she  first 
arrived  in  the  territory.  The  boy  was  a  telegraph  operator,  but 
had  been  for  some  time  out  of  a  situation. 

His  open  and  manly  bearing  had  long  placed  him  upon  ex 
cellent  terms  with  Helen,  as  he  was  with  all  who  knew  hiin. 
The  reader  will  recollect  that  he  had  been  a  frequent  visitor  at 
No.  16.  Greathouse  had  interested  himself  in  the  lad,  and  had 
tried  to  find  him  employment,  but  had  not  succeeded.  In  a 
moment  Charley  had  mounted  the  stairs,  and  entered  the  room 
with  sparkling  eyes  and  a  smile  upon  his  face. 

"  You  seem  happy,  Charley,"  said  Helen,  extending  him  her 
hand.  "  I  hope  it  is  for  a  good  cause."  "  It  is,"  he  cried. 
"  I  have  obtained  employment  at  last,  though  not  in  a 
telegraph  office.  I  had  determined  on  going  out  with  the  Indian 
expedition  that  leaves  to-day.  I  had  it  all  arranged  with  the 
Governor  of  the  Territory ;  I  was  to  be  a  messenger,  and  was 
to  ride  a  horse.  Colonel  Greathouse  had  partially  agreed  that 
I  might  go,  though  he  was  against  it  at  first ;  but  he  this  mo 
ment  met  me  in  the  street  and  asked  me  to  stay  here,  and  not 
to  go  with  the  expedition." 

"  Indeed,"  answered  Helen ;  "  I  think  that  very  wise  in  Col 
onel  Greathouse ;  you  are  too  young  to  go  to  the  wars." 

"  But  it  is  not  that,  miss ;  he  does  not  object  because  of  my 
age.  No !  I  am  old  enough  to  go.  Now  what  do  you  suppose, 
Helen,  he  wants  me  to  wait  here  for?" 

"  I  can't  imagine,  Charley,  unless  it  is  what  I  have  just 
named." 

"  No,  it  is  not  that ;  I  am  to  stay  here  to  take  care  of  you, 
and  to  amuse  you." 

"  To  take  care  of  me,  Charley.  What  put  that  idea  into  his 
head?" 

"  I  do  not  know ;  he  says  that  you  are  lonely  here  at  best, 
and  don't  know  anybody,  and  that  if  I  go  away  you  will  be  very 
much  more  dejected  and  cast  down  than  ever.  So  he  says  I 
am  to  stay  here  with  you.  He  has  employed  me  regularly  for 
that  purpose.  I  am  to  have  my  board  and  lodging  here  in  the 
house,  and  he  pays  me  the  same  wages  that  I  had  in  the  tele 
graph  office  ;  only  if  I  get  another  situation,  I  am  to  take  it ; 
and  then  my  employment  with  him  stops.  So  you  see  I  shall 
earn  money  to  send  home  to  my  mother,  and  not  have  very 
hard  work  at  that.  Employed  to  be  companion  to  a  beautiful 
young  lady  !  is  it  not  nice  ?  " 

Helen  thought  she  saw  in  this  a  means  adopted  by  Great- 
house,  to  prer  ent  the  boy  to  whom  he  was  greatly  attached  from 


238  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

going  on  a  dangerous  and  laborious  campaign  to  which  his  ten 
der  years  unsuited  him,  and  at  the  same  time  helping  him  to  a 
little  money  to  send  to  his  widowed  mother.  So  she  made  no 
more  objections  to  the  odd  employment  of  a  companion  to 
herself.  It  is  a  means  of  doing  a  good  action  that  I  ought  not 
to  object  to,  she  thought.  The  boy  continued,  — 

"He  told  me  that  I  was  not  to  tell  anybody,  except  you,  of 
my  new  engagement ;  so  you  must  not  let  out  my  secret." 

Helen  laughed,  and  promised  silence. 

"Are  you  to  do  nothing  but  attend  upon  me,  Charley?  for 
you  know  you  cannot  be  with  me  all  the  time." 

"I  am  not  to  be  in  your  way;  I  am  only  to  come  to  see  you 
when  invited.  But  I  have  nothing  else  to  do,  unless  you  should 
fall  into  great  trouble.  Into  very  great  trouble,  for  that  was 
what  he  said." 

"  Indeed,"  she  said,  turning  curiously  to  the  boy;  "and  what 
are  you  to  do,  Charley,  if  I  fall  into  great  trouble, — into  very 
great  trouble  ?  " 

"I  will  tell  you,  Helen.  Colonel  Greathouse  said  to  me, — 
'  Charley,  if  Miss  Graham  meets  with  great  trouble,  with  very 
great  trouble,'  —  remember,  for  these  were  his  exact  words.  — • 
'she  will  perhaps  tell  you  of  it.  When  she  does  so,  then  you 
are,  without  waiting  a  single  moment,  to  mount  my  horse  that 
you  will  find  at  the  stable,  and  come  to  me  with  the  word,  as 
quickly  as  you  can  come.'  That  is  all  that  I  have  to  do,  and 
I  think  the  employment  a  very  pleasant  one,  especially  as  it 
will  enable  me  to  send  money  to  my  mother  every  month.  Do 
you  not  think  so,  Helen  ?" 

"  Yes,  Charley ;  I  hope  you  will  find  it  agreeable.  But  you 
must  use  your  best  endeavors  to  find  other  employment  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"But  I  am  not  to  go  out  to  seek  for  it  till  Colonel  Greathouse 
sends  me  word  to  do  so.  That  he  told  me ;  but  am  to  stay 
near  to  you,  to  take  care  of  you." 

"Well,  no  doubt  he  will  soon  send  you  word  to  find  work; 
perhaps  when  he  thinks  you  have  had  sufficient  rest  from  your 
last  employment." 

"Perhaps  so,"  answered  Charley,  and  withdrew. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  MOTHER  AND  HER  OFFSPRING. 

HAD  Mr.  Graham  been  a  man  of  a  suspicious  turn  of  mind  the 
strange  intimacy  that  of  late  had  grown  up  between  his  superinten-  \/ 
dent  and  the  president  of  a  mining  company  known  to  be  in 
search  of  that  silver  vein  which  nothing  short  of  a  freak  of 
nature  could  have  thrown  without  his  own  mine,  would  have 
occasioned  at  least  some  uneasiness. 

But  he  was  not  in  the  least  so.  In  fact  he  had  become  quite 
accustomed  to  the  company  of  Marvin  Withergreen  about  the 
hoisting  works.  And,  until  the  accident  to  the  mine  which  had 
rendered  it  unsafe  to  enter,  he  saw  him  every  day  go  into  or 
come  out  of  the  shaft  in  company  with  Bloodstone,  as  it  was  ^ 
his  habit  to  do,  without  so  much  as  asking  a  question.  In  fact 
he  looked  upon  the  anxiety  which  that  gentleman  felt  in  his 
operations  as  altogether  a  natural  and  reasonable  one.  Their 
interests  were  not  in  the  least  conflicting.  True,  they  were 
both  in  search  of  the  same  lode,  but  each  was  doing  so  within 
his  own  ground,  and  the  finding  of  the  vein  by  one  would  quite 
put  an  end  to  the  excavations  and  expenditure,  as  well  as  of 
the  hopes  of  the  other.  It  may  have  sometimes  occurred  to 
Mr.  Graham  that  if  his  superintendent,  as  well  as  his  head  miner 
and  engineer,  would  spend  more  time  at  the  works  instead 
of  sitting  about  the  offices  of  the  Pactolus  company,  or  loun 
ging  in  its  hoisting  sheds  gossiping  with  Mr.  Withergreen,  as 
they  had  done  lately,  that  his  men  would  perhaps  work  more 
diligently,  and  that  more  progress  would  be  made.  But  when 
he  thought  of  this,  he  was  restrained  from  speaking  of  it  by  his 
relationship  to  Bloodstone.  That  gentleman  was  paying  all  of 
the  bills,  mainly  upon  the  prospect  of  reimbursement  from  the 
mine  when  the  ore  should  be  discovered,  and  it  was  really 
more  his  affair  than  it  was  that  of  Mr.  Graham.  So  that  gen 
tleman  allowed  things  to  take  their  own  course.  "  At  least,"  he 
thought,  "when  the  wedding  is  over,  Bloodstone  has  promised  to 
act  more  energetically,  and  certainly  he  will  redeem  his  pledge. 


240  ROBERT   GREATHQUSE. 

The  mine  will  be  quite  as  much  his  property  as  mine,  for  any 
thing  which  belongs  to  me  also  belongs  to  my  only  child,  and 
consequently  to  her  husband." 

The  condition  of  his  wife  now  began  to  give  Mr.  Graham 
very  great  uneasiness.  As  the  wedding  of  her  daughter  drew 
daily  nearer,  she  appeared  to  grow  less  herself  each  day.  He 
knew  that,  had  she  been  well,  she  would  have  yielded  immedi 
ately  to  her  daughter's  wishes  with  respect  to  the  marriage. 
But,  in  her  present  state  of  bodily  and  mental  health,  instead  of 
becoming  more  reconciled  to  it  as  the  day  approached, 
she  became  more  and  more  averse  to  the  wedding,  until  now 
they  feared  to  mention  it  in  her  presence,  the  shock  to  her 
system  was  so  obviously  cruel.  Yet  she  had  never  in  her 
waking  moments  raised  a  whisper  against  it.  She  had  always 
said,  "  Yes,  my  precious  baby  loves  him,"  for  she  no  longer  seems 
willing  to  pronounce  his  name,  and  no  doubt  will  be  unhappy 
if  she  does  not  marry  the  object  of  her  choice.  The  heart  and 
hand  should  always  go  together ;  and  then  she  would  draw  her 
child  to  her  breast  and  cover  her  frantically  with  her  arms,  as  if 
she  saw  the  slaughterer  of  innocents  with  sword  in  hand  already 
standing  over  her.  Helen,  at  these  times,  tried  hard  to  force 
back  her  tears  and  to  allay  her  mother's  hysterical  excitement, 
but  she  found  the  task  a  hard  one  to  do,  especially  at  a  time 
when  she  herself  would  gladly  have  died  in  those  beloved  arms 
that  were  clasping  her  so  fondly  and  so  anxiously.  If  she 
could  only  have  opened  her  heart  to  her  mother,  and  shown 
her  the  unspeakable  love  that  was  rankling  and  festering  at 
its  bottom,  it  would  have  been  a  relief  to  the  suffering  daughter. 
Even  the  fearful  sacrifice  she  was  going  to  make  of  her  young 
life,  and  all  its  bright  hopes  and  dreams,  could  have  been  borne, 
she  thought,  a  little  more  lightly,  could  her  dear  mother  know 
of  what  she  was  suffering  and  why  she  submitted  to  it.  But 
to  the  bitterness  of  the  cup  already  full  to  overflowing  was  now 
added  the  consciousness  that  even  that  loving,  self-sacrificing 
creature  did  not  understand  her,  and  perhaps  thought  that  her 
daughter  was  about  to  marry  Enoch  Bloodstone,  tempted  by  his 
wealth,  —  was,  in  fact,  selling  herself  for  base  gold.  Oh  !  could 
she  but  nestle  her  face  in  that  mother's  bosom  once  more,  as  she 
had  done  so  often,  and  pour  out  her  tale  of  sorrow,  she  could  rise 
up  the  next  moment,  and  go  to  the  sacrifice  bravely,  singing  a 
song  of  joy  and  triumph  by  the  way.  But  it  could  not  be. 
Her  duty  to  her  father  overrode  all  personal  considerations 
with  her.  She  knew  too  well  that  to  aid  him  she  must  suffer 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  241 

in  secret.  That  one  word  of  complaint,  one  word  of  dissatis 
faction  with  her  lot,  would  instantly  change  all  their  plans. 
She  knew  her  father  well  enough  to  know  that  he  would  break 
off  the  marriage,  though  he  should  be  forever  ruined  and  dis 
graced  by  the  act,  commencing  the  instant  after  its  announce 
ment.  She  would  not  turn  her  back  upon  him  in  his  troubles  to 
save  herself  from  any  fate.  She  could  not  do  it.  She  must 
therefore  bravely  meet  with  a  smiling  face  what  was  allotted  to 
her. 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  with  Mr.  Bloodstone,  dear  mamma," 
she  said,  when  she  saw  the  look  of  doubt  come  over  her 
mother's  face. 

*|  Yes,  I  know  you  have  told  me  how  noble  and  how  generous 
he  is,  and  how  much  you  love  him.  Ah,  me ! "  she  sighed,  "  how 
beautiful  it  is  to  marry  whom  we  love." 

The  wedding  had  been  fixed  for  Thursday,  but  at  the  sug 
gestion  of  Mr.  Bloodstone,  made  on  the  Saturday  previous  to 
the  wedding-day,  the  time  was  shortened.  He  would  go  with 
his  bride  to  San  Francisco  for  a  fortnight,  and  while  there  would, 
he  said,  do  what  he  could  to  hasten  the  construction  of  the 
pumps  for  clearing  out  the  water  in  the  mine.  Would  it  not 
be  better  to  be  married  early  on  Monday  morning,  and  cross 
the  mountains  the  same  day?  This  suggestion  was  made  in  the 
parlor,  in  presence  of  Mr.  Graham  and  his  daughter.  Matilda 
was  in  bed  in  her  own  room,  and  did  not  hear  it.  Mr.  Graham 
turned  to  Helen,  "  You  must  be  the  one  to  answer  that  ques 
tion,"  he  said.  "  Of  course,  with  me,  anything  that  will  hasten 
the  resumption  of  work  in  the  mine  would  be  most  agreeable." 

For  a  moment,  the  mist  came  before  Helen's  eyes.  The 
curtain,  that  had  closed  down  before  them  weeks  before,  seemed 
to  grow  even  darker  and  more  impenetrable.  She  made  an  effort, 
and  answered,  "That  day  will  be  as  agreeable  to  me  as  any." 
Then,  as  if  feeling  the  equivocal  nature  of  the  answer,  she 
added,  "I  am  quite  willing  to  have  the  day  changed  to 
Monday." 

She  did  not  dare  to  tell  them  what  was  upon  her  mind,— that 
she  feared  the  effect  of  the  announcement  upon  her  mother. 
So  the  matter  was  agreed  upon,  and  now  but  forty-eight  hours 
lay  between  her  and  her  future  destiny. 

When  Mr.  Bloodstone  had  retired,  she  told  her  father  what 
had  occurred  to  her  —  that  her  mother  had  not  become  recon 
ciled,  entirely,  to  the  union  with  Mr.  Bloodstone,  and  that  she 
was  in  so  nervous  a  condition,  that  she  almost  dreaded  to  an- 


242  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

nounce  to  her  the  change  of  time  that  had  been  agreed  upon. 
Her  father  could  not  understand  this ;  he  had  seen  nothing 
like  unwillingness  to  the  marriage  in  his  wife ;  she  would  surely 
have  mentioned  to  him,  had  she  felt  so  about  the  matter.  He 
would  go  and  tell  her  himself.  So  he  rose,  and  went  to  her 
room.  In  a  few  minutes,  he  returned.  It  had  all  been  talked 
over  between  them,  and  she  appeared,  as  he  was  sure  she  was, 
quite  satisfied  with  the  arrangement. 

When  Mr.  Graham  departed  for  his  office,  which  he  did 
directly  after  this,  Helen  went  into  her  mother's  room  and  took 
her  hand.  She  expected  to  be  asked  about  the  change  of  the 
wedding-day,  but  no  such  question  came. 

"  Sit  down  here,  Baby,"  said  the  mother,  "  and  stay  with  me, 
will  you,  darling?"  This  she  said  in  the  supplicating  tone  that 
had  lately  become  habitual  with  her. 

Helen  did  so,  and  her  mother  put  her  arms  around  her 
daughter,  and  drew  her  towards  her. 

"Don't  go  to  the  mine  with  Mr.  Bloodstone,  Baby  darling; 
stay  here  with  me." 

"  Go  to  the  mine,  mother  ?  "  repeated  Helen ;  "  I  am  not  going 
to  the  mine.  Why  do  you  ask  me  that  ?  " 

"  Have  you  not  been  there,"  said  the  mother,  pushing  back 
her  hair,  and  looking  eagerly  in  her  daughter's  face.  "  I 
thought  you  had  just  returned  from  the  mine ;  it  was  your  father, 
I  suppose.  Perhaps  he  spoke  of  it,  and  that  brought  the  idea 
to  my  mind ;  I  thought  you  had  been  down  in  the  mine  with 
Mr.  Bloodstone.  It  was  a  strange  thought,  was  it  not  ?  "  Here 
she  again  pressed  her  daughter  to  her  breast. 

Helen  was  alarmed  at  this  question.    Could  her  mother  be, 
wandering  in  her  mind  ?    But  she  was  soon  reassured,  for  the » 
invalid  continued  to  converse  with  her  upon  general  subjects, 
but  without  referring  to  the  marriage. 

Helen  poured  out,  and  gave  to  her  some  medicine  left  by 
the  physician  to  soothe  her  nerves,  and,  seeing  that  her  mother 
appeared  disposed  to  be  quiet  if  not  to  sleep,  arose  to  go  into 
the  parlor.  At  the  door,  she  was  stopped  by  a  call  from  the 
invalid. 

"  Baby.' 

"  Yes,  mother,  here  I  am,"  she  answered,  stooping  over  the 
invalid. 

Matilda  raised  herself  up  in  the  bed,  and  drew  her  daughter 
close  to  her,  looking  her  eagerly  in  the  face.  "  I  don't  like 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  243 

that  man's  plan  of  spending  the  honeymoon  in  the  mine  ; 
do  you?"  Helen  was  now  alarmed. 

;'Why,  dear  mother,  what  ails  you?  No  one  is  thinking  of 
spending  the  honeymoon  in  the  mine." 

Matilda  rubbed  her  face,  "  I  think  I  must  have  been  dreaming, 
dear  Baby.  I  thought  we  were  all  to  go  into  the  mine  for  your 
honeymoon  ;  in  fact,  I  thought  we  had  gone  thither.  How 
queer  that  I  should  fancy  such  a  thing.  It  almost  seems  to  me 
now  that  I  see  it  as  I  saw  it  then.  You  are  sure  there  is 
nothing  in  it  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure,  dear  mamma,  such  a  thing  would  be  impos 
sible." 

"  Of  course  it  would;  but  I  thought  so,  and  the  idea  was  so 
horrible  as  to  give  me  a  fearful  shock." 

"  Don't  think  any  more  about  it,  dear  mamma,  and  I  will  sit 
here  by  your  side." 

"  Don't  leave  me,  Helen.  It  seems  to  me,  when  you  leave 
the  room,  that  you  are  going  down  in  that  horrid  mine,  and 
that  I  shall  never  see  you  more." 

"  Don't  think  of  it  any  more,  darling  mamma,"  and  Helen 
took  a  seat  by  her  mother,  holding  her  hand  lovingly  in  hers. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  Mr.  Graham  returned  ;  he 
had  been  kept  out  by  some  engagement  of  importance.  When 
he  came  in,  he  found  Helen  lying  upon  the  bed,  supporting  her 
mother's  head  upon  her  breast.  Matilda  had  been  restless  all 
the  evening,  and  Helen  had  not  left  her  side,  even  for  an  instant. 
She  told  her  father  how  much  worse  her  mother  had  grown. 

"  I  will  call  the  physician,"  he  said.  In  five  minutes  Dr. 
Brierly  had  been  called  from  his  room,  which  was  in  the  hotel 
close  by,  and  approached  the  bedside  of  his  patient. 

Matilda  heard  his  footsteps,  and  started  up.  "No!  no!" 
she  cried,  "you  shall  not." 

She  did  not  recognize  the  kind  face  of  the  doctor.  To 
the  mother,  it  was  the  slaughterer  of  innocents,  who  had 
at  last  broken  down  the  door,  and  now  had  driven  her  to  the 
wall.  She  seized  Helen,  who  still  lay  upon  the  side  of  the  bed, 
and  clasped  her  tightly  in  her  arms.  "  Go  away,"  she  whis 
pered  ;  and  her  eye  glared  with  the  fury  of  the  she-wolf  defend 
ing  her  whelps.  "  You  shall  not  take  her." 

''Mamma,  dear  mamma,"  said  Helen,  "it  is  only  the  doctor. 
It  is  Dr.  Brierly,  mamma,  who  has  come  to  see  you." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  whispered  Matilda ;   "  I   thought  it  was  that  man, 


244  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

come  to  take  you  down  in  the  mine,"  and  slowly  and  hesita- 
tingly  she  released  her  hold  upon  her  daughter. 

The  doctor  felt  her  pulse  in  silence.  It  was  nothing  seri 
ous,  he  thought,  if  only  quiet  and  repose  could  be  secured. 
Her  mind  must  be  kept  quite  free  from  any  sort  of  excitement. 
If  there  was  any  subject  of  domestic  importance  that  gave  her 
uneasiness,  it  must  be  absolutely  kept  from  her,  and  she  must 
be  gratified  by  at  least  apparent  acquiescence  in  her  desires, 
whatever  they  might  be.  This  done,  no  apprehension  need  be 
entertained.  The  patient's  constitution  was  not  seriously 
impaired ;  but  she  must  be  carefully  dealt  with,  and,  above  all 
things,  she  must  not  be  subjected  to  any  sort  of  excitement. 
If  his  injunctions  were  lost  sight  of,  he  could  not  answer  for 
the  consequences.  He  left  a  soothing  draught,  and  withdrew. 

The  medicine  proved  highly  beneficial.  Matilda  passed  a 
comfortable  night,  having  slept  well,  and  in  the  morning  was 
herself  once  more.  She  had  not  seemed  so  well  for  two 
months,  and  all  in  the  house  were  in  correspondingly  good 
spirits ;  but  the  wedding  was  not  spoken  of  by  any  one ;  its 
discussion  was  dropped,  apparently  by  common  consent. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MR.  GRAHAM    VISITS    THE    FOURTH    LEVEL. 

MR.  GRAHAM  remained  in  the  house  during  the  forenoon, 
sitting  with  his  invalid  wife  in  her  bed-room.  Charley  Hunter 
came  in,  and  talked  for  a  time  with  Helen  in  the  parlor.  It 
was  Sunday  morning,  and  the  hour  for  divine  service  came  on, 
even  in  Virginia  City.  For  with  all  the  wild  roughness  of  the 
place,  worthy  ministers  had  penetrated  the  wilderness,  even  at 
that  early  period,  and  those  who  chose  to  do  so  could  hear 
the  word  of  God  discoursed  in  more  than  one  unpretentious 
wooden  chapel,  on  the  rugged  sides  of  Mount  Davidson. 

"We  cannot  go  to  church,"  said  Matilda;  "but  Helen  can 
sing  us  some  hymns  of  praise  to  God,  for  his  mercy  to  us.  Let 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  245 

us  not  forget  the  day,  because  we  are  in  this  wild  land,  lest  we 
ourselves  l3e  forgotten." 

And  so  Helen  sang  for  her  mother,  "  Gloria  in  Excelsis," 
in  her  rich,  clear  voice,  that  brought  tears  to  the  sufferer's 
eyes.  In  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Graham  rose  to  go  out  for  a 
walk.  "I  have  been  in  the  house  all  day,"  he  said;  "I  will 
walk  up  by  the  mine,  and  see  if  anything  new  has  taken  place." 
Matilda  shuddered  at  the  bare  mention  of  the  mine.  It  had 
been  disposed  of  by  her  amongst  the  unpronounceable  words  ; 
she  called  it  "  that  place."  She  clung  to  his  hand,  and  said,  — 

"  Do  not  go  to  that  place,  Edmond,  to-day ;  I  dread  to  have 
anybody  who  is  dear  to  me  go  thither." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  have  such  notions,  Matilda.  I  will  come 
directly  back  to  you  ;  I  will  not  be  absent  an  hour." 

Saying  this,  he  stooped  and  kissed  his  wife.  "  Compose  your 
mind,  darling,  and  go  to  sleep.  If  you  do  so,  I  am  sure  you 
will  be  better  by  the  time  I  am  back." 

Helen  sat  by  the  bed  ;  she  watched  her  mother's  eyes  as 
they  looked  yearningly  after  her  husband.  When  he  passed 
from  her  view,  they  filled  with  tears.  Then  she  listened  till  the 
sound  of  his  footsteps  had  expired  in  the  distance,  and  when 
they  could  be  no  longer  heard,  she  turned  her  face  to  the  wall, 
and  moaned  piteously,  "  I  shall  never  see  my  darling  husband 
again,  in  this  world." 

"  Oh,  dear  mamma,  how  can  you  say  so  ? "  cried  Helen. 
"He  will  be  back  in  a  few  minutes.  I  will  call  him  now,"  and 
she  ran  the  door,  to  stop  her  father,  remembering  what  the 
doctor  had  said  about  her  mother's  treatment.  But  she  was 
too  late,  he  was  beyond  recall.  Returning,  she  found  the 
invalid  sitting  up  in  bed. 

"  Do  not  call  him  back,  Baby,"  she  said.  "  I  know  that  I 
ought  not  to  imagine  such  things.  I  will  tiy  to  do  better,  my 
precious.  Forgive  me  for  my  silly  notions." 

"  Oh,  darling  mother,"  cried  Helen ;  "  do  not  ask  your 
baby's  forgiveness;  you,  who  are  so  good,  and  so  sweet."  And 
she  lay  down  by  her  mother's  side,  and  took  the  invalid's  head 
once  more  upon  her  breast,  and  calmed  her  as  well  as  she 
could. 

Mr.  Graham  found  the  weather  fine  when  he  issued  from  the 
house  ;  and,  to  enjoy  the  fresh  air,  he  strolled  up  the  side  of  the 
mountain,  back  of  his  mine's  mouth,  coming  upon  the  hoisting 
sheds,  after  a  half  hour's  walk,  from  the  rear,  and  not  in  the 
usual  way.  Being  out  of  Breath,  he  took  a  seat  on  a  pile  of 


24:6  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

» 

wood  that,  when  the  mine  was  being  worked,  had  been  pro 
vided  for  the  engine  fires.  He  had  not  been  sitting  long,  when 
he  heard  voices  in  conversation  at  the  mouth  of  the  shaft. 
This  attracted  his  attention.  There  was  no  work  going  on  in 
the  mine,  and  he  knew  that,  ordinarily,  there  would  be  onlv 
the  watchman  left  in  charge  of  the  works  about  the  place.  By 
turning  his  head  slightly,  he  could  see  the  persons.  They 
proved  to  be  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone,  his  superintendent,  with 
the  engineer  of  the  mine,  the  chief  miner,  and  two  other  late 
employees,  and,  besides  these,  he  saw  that  they  were  accompa 
nied  by  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen,  president  of  the  Pactolus 
Company.  These  people  being  at  the  hoisting  shed  was  not 
a  matter  to  be  wondered  at,  and  Mr.  Graham  was  on  the  point 
of  getting  up  from  his  seat  and  going  to  address  them, 
when,  to  his  unspeakable  amazement,  they  all,  one  after  another, 
stepped  into  the  cage,  which  stood  open  at  the  top  of  the  shaft, 
and,  before  Mr.  Graham  couid  find  words,  or  even  thoughts,  to 
express,  they  had  disappeared  down  the  mine.  The  noxious 
gases  that  were  said  to  have  taken  possession  of  the  mine,  had 
not,  to  Mr.  Graham's  knowledge,  been  removed.  Then  how 
could  these  people  boldly  plunge  down  to  that  which,  if  he  had 
been  properly  informed,  was  to  meet  certain  death.  When  he 
reached  the  pit's  mouth,  the  cage  was  already  hundreds  of  feet 
down,  and,  before  the  man,  who  was  attending  at  the  fall, 
returned  his  salute,  he  ceased  paying  out,  and  the  cage  was 
stopped  by  the  descending  party  to  enter  a  side  drift. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Graham,"  said  the  watchman,  respect 
fully  touching  his  hat. 

"I  thought  the  mine  was  filled  with  damps,"  said  Mr.  Gra 
ham.  "When  were  they  removed  so  that  it  could  be  entered?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  man  ;  "I  am  not  the  regular 
watchman  on  duty  here ;  I  have  been  put  here  for  this  occa 
sion  only.  The  regular  watchman  is  my  brother,  and  I  have 
just  come  over  the  mountain  to  pay  him  a  visit ;  he  has  gone 
down  with  Mr.  Bloodstone,  to  look  at  the  condition  of  the 
mine.  They  said  nothing  about  any  damps.  I  only  arrived  in 
Virginia  yesterday,  and  know  nothing  about  the  mine." 

The  truth  "was,  that  no  poisonous  gases  had  ever  existed  in 
the  mine.  The  whole  story  was  an  invention  of  Bloodstone's 
to  keep  people,  and  especially,  Mr.  Graham,  out  of  it.  One 
of  the  workmen,  in  the  secret,  had  been  placed  in  charge  of 
the  works,  as  watchman,  and  all  others  had  been  carefully 
excluded.  By  this  plan,  Bioodstone  had  visited,  as  often  as  he 


ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE.  247 

pleased,  the  fourth  level,  where  the  "chimney"  of  ore  was 
situated.  The  watchman  had  never  been  down  during  any  of 
these  visits  ;  but  this  day  he  had  insisted  on  being  allowed  to 
descend  with  the  others.  He  wished  to  gloat  over  his  share  in 
the  plunder,  as  well  as  to  watch  his  fellow-conspirators,  and  s-je 
that  he  was  not  cheated  by  them.  To  this  Bloodstone  had 
consented,  in  the  belief  that  Mr.  Graham  would  not  visit  tlu 
mine  on  Sunday,  especially  at  a  time  when  his  wife  wras  so  ill. 
He  was  also  thrown  oif  his  guard  by  the  near  approach  of  his 
marriage.  He  thought  that,  whatever  might  occur,  that  the 
following  morning,  by  making  him  Mr.  Graham's  son-in-law, 
would  place  him  in  a  position  to  free  himself  from  the  gang  of 
plunderers  with  which  he  was  now  surrounded.  The  watch 
man's  brother  being  in  the  works  on  a  visit  was  placed  at  the 
shaft  to  let  them  down,  and  draw  them  up  again ;  but  with 
positive  orders  to  allow  no  one  in  the  shed  while  they  were 
below,  and  especially,  to  let  no  one  enter  the  mine.  The  man 
had  arrived  the  day  before,  and  had  seen  Mr.  Graham  at  the 
shed,  and  understood  him  to  be  the  owner,  but  knew  nothing 
of  the  plot  in  which  his  brother  and  the  others  were  so  .deeply 
complicated. 

Mr.  Graham  saw  nothing  very  extrordinary  in  what  was  tak 
ing  place  before  his  eyes.  It  was  only  evident  to  him  that 
something  had  happened  very  recently,  to  either  neutralize  the 
noxious  air  in  the  mine  or  to  wholly  remove  it.  Whatever  that 
had  been,  it  was  only  a  matter  of  congratulation  ;  it  was  an  ab 
solute  gain  of  no  inconsiderable  value. 

"Will  they  be  up  soon?"  he  asked  of  the  watchman. 

"  They  did  not  say,  sir ;  I  am  to  stay  here  and  wait  for  them, 
and  keep  everybody  out  of  the  mine." 

The  order  had  been  given  in  general  terms,  and  it  had  not 
occurred  to  the  man,  nor  did  it  occur  to  Mr.  Graham,  that  it 
could  apply  to  him,  the  owner.  After  considering  a  moment, 
he  said,  — 

"  I  will  go  down  and  see  what  they  are  doing.  I  had  not 
heard  of  the  removal  of  the  damps,  and  I  am  curious  to  see 
how  the  mine  looks."  "Besides,"  he  added,  "I  have  not  been 
in  the  fourth  level  for  several  months,  and  a  great  deal  of  work 
was^done  there  while  I  was  away  last  winter." 

"You  are  right,  sir  ;  my  brother  tells  me  that  the  whole  hill 
is  honey  combed,  in  that  level,  in  every  direction;  from  what 
he  says,  it  is  as  much  as  he  can  do  to  find  the  way  about 


248  ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE. 

amongst  the  drifts,  and  galleries,  and  mouse-holes  in  that  part 
of  the  mine." 

Mr.  Graham  stepped  into  the  cage  which  had  been  drawn  up 
by  the  man  while  he  was  talking  about  descending. 

"You  must  have  a  light,  sir." 

Here  the  man  rummaged  about  the  place,  and  produced  a 
candle  partly  consumed. 

"  Here  is  one,  sir  ;  as  soon  as  I  strike  a  match." 

This  he  did ;  and  lighting  the  candle,  gave  it  to  Mr.  Graham. 

"  Take  some  more  matches,  sir,"  said  the  man  handing  him 
a  box. 

Mr.  Graham  took  the  matches,  and  then  was  let  down 
slowly  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  The  watchman  lowered 
the  owner  of  the  mine  carefully  down,  till  the  mark  indicated 
that  the  cage  was  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  drift  of  the  fourth 
level.  Here  he  stopped;  and  there  being  nothing  more  for 
him  to  do,  sat  down,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  began  to  smoke  to 
pass  the  time,  till  the  party  should  signal  him  to  draw  them  up 
again.  He  did  not  expect  to  have  long  to  wait.  It  was  Sun 
day,  and  in  the  afternoon.  They  could  not  find  occupation  in 
an  unworked  mine,  partly  flooded,  to  detain  them  long.  He 
smoked  out  his  pipe,  and  knocking  out  the  ashes  walked  stolid 
ly  about  for  a  half  hour,  and  then  came  back  by  the  lift  and 
and  smoked  another  one.  He  wanted  to  get  away  to  walk  in 
the  town,  which  was  strange  to  him,  and  was  impatient  of  his 
unusual  employment.  Still  the  expected  signal  did  not  come. 
He  had  been  waiting  more  than  three  hours,  and  it  was  begin 
ning  to  grow  dark,  when  at  last,  the  bell  rang  "  hoist  up."  He 
pulled  away  with  a  will ;  but  when  the  cage  reached  the  surface, 
the  grumbling  watchman  found  that  his  task  was  not  yet  ended. 
His  brother,  the  regular  watchman  of  the  mine  alone  came  up. 
The  others  remained  down,  while  he  had  come  up  in  search  of 
instruments.  "Go  down  to  the  office  of  the  Pactolus  Compa 
ny,"  the  regular  watchman  said  to  his  visiting  brother,  "and  fetch 
up  a  box  that  you  will  find  on  the  president's  desk.  You  know 
where  it  is ;  you  were  there  yesterday.  The  box  contains  a  blow 
pipe  and  lamps,  a  microscope,  and  some  chemicals.  And  look 
sharp  about  it,"  he  called  out,  as  the  brother  walked  off  down 
the  road.  It  was  a  long  walk  down  the  hill  to  the  Pactolus  of 
fice,  and  a  longer  one  up  the  same  mountain-side  back  again. 
The  visitor  went  both  stages  of  his  errand  as  fast  as  he  could 
go ;  but  he  found  when  he  entered  the  shed,  that  he  had  been 
away  half  an  hour. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  249 

"  You  have  been  very  slow,"  grumbled  the  brother  to  his 
temporary  substitute.  "  Do  you  expect  gentlemen  to  wait  in 
the  mine  all  night,  while  you  go  strolling  about  like  an  old  maid 
taking  the  air  ?  " 

The  visitor  said  he  had  been  as  quick  as  he  could. 

"Well,  it  is  too  late;  they  waited  awhile,  and  then  got  tired 
of  it,"  said  the  watchman ;  "they  have  all  left  and  gone  home. 
If  you  are  going  back  to  California  in  the  morning,  you  had 
better  have  your  dinner  and  get  to  bed,  for  you  must  rise 
early." 

The  visitor  agreed  to  this  advice  and  went  about  taking  it. 
Mr.  Graham,  so  the  watchman  told  his  brother  before  he  retired, 
had  come  to  them  in  the  mine  while  they  were  below,  and  with 
the  others,  had  examined  the  rock  in  search  of  metallic  indica 
tions.  The  instruments  not  coming  as  quickly  as  they  had  ex 
pected  .hem,  and  the  hour  growing  late,  they  had  suddenly 
abandoned  further  examination  of  the  rock  for  the  day,  and  had 
signalled  to  be  hoisted  up.  That  they  had  all  been  drawn  up 
by  the  watchman,  and  had  gone  away  down  into  the  town  to 
gether.  "But  it  is  all  nght,"  added  the  regular  watchman; 
"  the  instruments  you  brought  from  the  Pactolus  office  are  here 
now,  and  will  be  ready  for  them  in  the  morning,  when  they  go 
down  again.  But  you  will  be  then  ?n  the  coach,  on  your  way 
back  over  the  mountains." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

MR.  GRAHAM  HAS  GONE  UPON  A  JOURNEY, 

HELEN  observed,  almost  as  soon  as  her  father  left  the  hotel 
for  his  intended  walk,  that  the  change  for  the  better  in  her 
mother's  condition,  so  marked  in  the  morning,  was  rapidly 
giving  way.  She  sat  by  the  bed  of  the  invalid,  and  talked  to 
her,  holding  her  hand,  and  trying  to  reassure  her  as  much  as 
possible. 

She  appeared  to  be  again  wandering  in  her  mind.     Mr.  Gra- 


250  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

ham  had  gone  into  the  mine,  so  she  said,  in  company  with 
Bloodstone. 

"  He  ought  not  to  go  with  that  man,"  moaned  the  invalid. 
"  I  told  Edmond  not  to  go  with  him  to  that  place,  and  now  he 
is  gone  there,  and  I  shall  not  see  him  any  more.  That  man 
will  not  let  him  come  back ;  his  unhappy  wife  will  never  see 
him  again." 

Helen  sat  anxiously  waiting  for  her  father  to  return,  as  she 
knew  it  was  nearly  time  for  him  to  do.  His  presence,  she 
knew,  would  do  more  for  her  mother,  than  the  physician  could 
accomplish,  with  his  most  potent  drugs ;  and,  besides,  as  soon 
as  he  would  come,  she  would  have  him  call  Dr.  Brierly. 

Time  passed  slowly,  but  surely,  along,  till  she  could  see  from 
her  window  that  the  sun  was  going  down  behind  Gold  Hill. 
The  great  gong  of  the  hotel  sounded  the  call  for  dinner,  and 
she  heard  the  people  nocking  through  the  halls,  eagerly  rushing 
to  swallow  their  food. 

Had  it  been  a  week-day,  she  would  not  have  thought  of  her 
father's  absence  as  unusual.  But  it  was  Sunday,  and  he  could 
have  nothing  to  detain  him  ;  and,  besides,  he  had  promised  his 
invalid  wife  to  be  back  promptly,  and  he  must  know  that  in  her 
condition,  his  presence  was  of  importance  in  the  sick 
chamber. 

For  an  hour,  even  for  two  hours  longer,  she  mustered  together 
every  possible  reason  of  which  she  could  think,  showing  it  to 
be  absolutely  certain  that  he  would  be  home  within  ten  minutes. 
But  then  the  matter  began  to  be  alarming,  and  from  that  time 
she  set  about  searching  for  equally  ingenious  theories  to  account 
for  his  absence,  and  to  show  that  it  would  not  be  strange 
if  he  should  be  yet  detained  for  an  hour,  or  even  two  hours, 
longer. 

All  of  these  arguments,  first  upon  one  side,  and  then  upon 
the  other,  she  urged  to  her  mother  as  good  reasons  for  freeing 
her  mind  from  that  alarm  which  was  already  seizing  hold  of 
herself. 

At  eleven  o'clock  she  could  wait  no  longer,  and,  ringing  the 
bell,  she  sent  for  Dr.  Brierly.  He  came  directly,  and  found  his 
patient  much  agitated.  She  was  sitting  up  in  the  bed,  with 
Helen  by  her  side,  trying  vainly  to  calm  her  fears. 

"  He  has  gone  to  that  place  with  that  man,"  was  the  burden 
of  her  lamentation.  "That  man  would  not  let  him  come 
back  ! " 

Helen  told  the  doctor  as  quickly  as  she  could  that  her  father 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  251 

had  gone  out  in  the  afternoon  for  a  walk,  saying  that  he  would 
be  back  in  an  hour,  but  that  he  had  not  returned,  and  that  she 
could  now  think  of  no  reason  for  his  longer  delay. 

The  physician  spoke  to  Matilda,  and  assured  her  that  there 
was  no  cause  for  uneasiness.  He  then  gave  her  an  opiate. 

"  She  must  sleep,"  he  whispered  to  Helen,  "  that  is  all  she 
needs.  One  good  night  of  repose  will  almost  restore  her  to 
health.  I  have  no  fears  for  her,  whatever,  but  she  must  sleep. 
I  will  send  out  directly  and  have  inquiry  made  for  Mr.  Graham. 
Do  not  be  alarmed.  We  will  soon  find  out  where  he  is." 

The  doctor  withdrew,  and  left  Helen  with  her  mother.  Ob 
serving  that  the  medicine  was  about  to  produce  the  desired 
effect,  she  slipped  off  her  dress  and  lay  down  with  her  mother 
in  the  bed,  holding  her  in  her  arms  to  calm  her  agitation  as 
much  as  possible. 

At  one  o'clock  a  messenger  came  to  the  door  from  the  doctor. 
He  had  heard  of  Mr.  Graham  through  his  superintendent,  Mr. 
Enoch  Bloodstone. 

That  gentleman  had  sent  word,  in  response  to  the  doctor's 
inquiries,  that  his  principal  had  been  called  suddenly  to  go  out 
of  town,  upon  important  business,  and  would  not  be  home  for 
several  days,  perhaps  even  for  weeks.  But  that  he,  Mr.  Blood 
stone,  would  call  in  the  morning,  and  explain  everything  to  the 
family. 

Matilda  had  yielded  to  the  effects  of  the  opiate  long  before 
this  message  came,  and  was  now  sleeping  as  calmly  as  if  no 
thought  of  trouble  had  ever  crossed  her  path  in  life. 

Helen  closed  the  door  upon  the  messenger,  and  walked  to 
the  centre  of  the  room,  and  stood  there.  Her  blood  seemed  to 
have  stopped  suddenly  in  her  veins.. 

Where  was  she  ?  What  had  happened  to  her  ?  Her  first 
impulse  was  to  fly  to  her  mother,  as  she  would  have  done  in 
her  childhood,  when  some  infantile  disaster  had  come  upon  her. 
There  was  comfort,  there  was  protection,  where  she  had  always 
found  it,  at  the  side  of  that  one  who  had  never  failed  to  shield 
her  from  danger  and  from  misfortune. 

She  staggered  through  the  door  to  the  bedside,  with  a  vague 
idea  of  getting  within  those  arms  that  had  so  often  encircled 
her  in  her  childish  griefs.  In  another  instant  she  would  have 
been  prostrate  upon  her  mother's  breast,  hiding  from  some  inde 
finable  horror  that  was  pursuing  her,  when  the  light  of  the 
lamp  revealed  to  her  the  pallid  features  of  the  invalid,  made 
haggard  by  the  shadow  of  the  pillow  ends,  that  sprung  up, 


252  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

white  and  ghastly,  under  the  pressure  of  the  sleeping  head. 
She  stopped,  gazed  a  moment,  and  slowly  awoke  to  the  sense 
of  her  loneliness  and  desolation. 

She  was  no  longer  the  Baby,  flying  to  her  darling  mother 
with  her  petty  story  of  momentary  troubles.  She  was  now,  in 
her  turn,  the  mother,  —  the  stricken,  widowed  mother;  and  there 
lay  her  baby,  her  helpless,  ailing,  invalid  baby,  before  her,  to  be 
nursed,  to  be  comforted,  cherished  and  healed.  She  could 
not,  dared  not  move,  scarcely  to  breathe,  lest  she  wake  the 
sufferer. 

She  moved  softly  to  the  sofa  and  sat  down  to  consider. 
Then  she  collected  her  scattered  thoughts,  and  tried  to  go 
over  all  of  the  ground  to  see  what  had  really  happened. 

She  had  been  indeed  fearfully  disturbed  in  mind,  for  she  had 
forgotten  the  impending  disaster  of  disasters  yet  to  come.  Now 
this  rolled  back  again  upon  her,  crushing  her  still  lower.  To 
morrow  morning  she  was  to  marry  "that  man"  ;  for  she 
had  contracted  her  mother's  horror  of  even  thinking  of  his 
name. 

That  some  fearful  misfortune  had  overtaken  her  father,  she 
felt  but  too  positive.  That  he  would  have  gone  away  out  of 
the  town,  at  such  a  time,  and  under  such  circumstances,  for 
weeks,  or  days,  or  even  hours,  she  felt  to  be  utterly  inconsistent 
with  his  character.  But  of  what  could  have  happened  to  him, 
she  could  form  no  notion. 

In  the  morning,  "  that  man "  would  come  and  tell  her  the 
extent  of  her  misfortune.  Why  had  he  not  come  directly  to 
her  ?  Why  had  he  left  her  to  suffer  this  night  of  horror  ?  Was 
it  not  enough  that  he  was  going  to  marry  her  in  the  morning, 
without  adding  to  that  enormity  a  concealment  that  might  kill 
her  darling  mother  the  night  before  ?  She  was  sure  that 
the  story  of  his  going  out  of  town  was  a  subterfuge  of  some 
sort. 

So  she  sat,  and  dreaded,  and  hoped,  and  wondered,  till  day 
light  sneaked  in  at  the  blinds,  and  till  the  morning  sun  followed 
it  over  the  Humboldt  mountains,  and  glared  boldly  and  vicious 
ly  through  the  window,  at  the  forsaken  girl.  At  last  her  mother 
awoke  and  called  her. 

"  Baby,"  she  said,  kindly,  "are  you  up,  dear?" 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  have  been  up  a  half  an  hour,  and  am 
already  dressed." 

"  Where  is  your  father,  darling?" 

The  daughter  could  not  tell  the  mother  the  truth. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  253 

"He  has  jrst  gone  to  the  mine,  mother.  He  Jid  not  wish 
to  awake  you  out  of  your  sleep,  and  so  went  away." 

The  mother  sighed  at  the  mention  of  the  mine. 

It  was  the  black  spot  upon  her  life.  Helen  saw  with  pleasure 
that  her  mother  had  been  greatly  benefited  by  her  night's  rest. 
She  was  again  clear  in  mind  and  greatly  refreshed.  "  Now," 
thought  she,  "  if  my  father  was  only  here  all  would  be  soon  well 
again."  But  the  horrible  dream  of  the  night  before  still  hung 
over  her.  It  was  to  be  realized  in  some  manner  this  morning, 
and  every  footstep  she  heard  in  the  hall  caused  her  to  start  and 
tremble.  It  might  be  that  man  coming  with  a  sentence  of 
death  for  them  all.  This  Monday  morning  had  been  a  dread 
ful  day  in  the  future  to  her ;  but  now  it  had  come,  with  additional 
and  unforseen  horrors.  It  was  her  appointed  wedding  morn 
ing.  But  that  circumstance  had  now  sunk  out  of  sight,  beneath 
the  blacker  fate  that  appeared  to  have  seized  upon  the  day  and 
appointed  it  to  more  fearful  deeds  of  woe. 

She  prepared  food  for  her  mother,  and  then  urged  her  to 
again  try  to  sleep.  "  I  will  sit  in  the  parlor  and  sew,"  she  said, 
"  and  so  not  disturb  you." 

Matilda  said  that  her  precious  Baby's  presence  never  dis 
turbed  her,  and  that  she  could  sleep  more  freely  with  her  in  the 
room.  But  the  daughter  said  "No,  it  is  better  forme  to  sit 
here,  within  call." 

The  truth  was  that  she  expected  Bloodstone  to  arrive  mo 
mentarily,  with  his  horrible  explanation,  and  this  she  knew  her 
mother  must  not  hear.  So  she  sat  tremblingly  by  the  door  to 
stop  him  with  his  story  as  soon  as  he  should  enter. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE    WEDDING    IS    POSTPONED. 


HELEN  did  not  have  long  to  wait  for  Enoch  Bloodstone.  He 
came  soon,  but  not  alone.  He  brought  with  him  a  stranger, 
"  the  man  who  has  perhaps  seen  my  father  fall  over  a  precipice, 
and  perish,"  thought  Helen,  staring  at  him  with  eyes  almost  start- 


'    254  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

ing  from  her  head.  She  wished  to  divine  his  fearful  story,  if 
possible,  without  his  telling  it.  If  he  spoke,  her  mother  might 
overhear  him  through  the  thin  partition.  She  put  her  fingers 
upon  her  lips  to  impress  the  necessity  of  caution,  and  pointed 
to  the  sick  room  to  warn  him  not  to  speak  loud  enough  to  be 
heard  there.  The  man  only  bowed  low.  He  appeared  to 
have  nothing  to  tell. 

"Where  is  my  father?"  she  asked  in  a  whisper,  and  then 
paused  for  a  reply. 

The  man  looked  at  Bloodstone.  "I  do  not  know,"  he  an 
swered  ;  "I  have  not  seen  him." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  all  right,"  said  Bloodstone,  in  a  sharp, busi 
ness  voice.  "I  will  tell  you  all  about  that  by  and  by. 
This  is  Mr.  Marshall,  the  'justice  of  the  peace.'  He  has  come 
to  perform  the  marriage  ceremony ;  he  has  no  time  to  wait.  As 
soon  as  it  is  over  I  will  tell  you  all  about  your  father.  It  is  a 
private  affair,  and  concerns  only  our  own  family." 

This  he  said,  looking  hard  at  Helen,  as  if  to  give  her  to  un 
derstand  that  the  justice  of  the  peace  was  not  to  know  of  the 
matter. 

Helen  for  a  moment  stood  speechless.  She  had  forgotten 
all  about  the  wedding.  It  had  been  driven  from  her  mind  by 
an  overwhelming  invasion  of  more  terrible  misfortunes,  sweep 
ing  all  before  them.  The  fresh  calamity,  that  she  felt  sure  had 
occurred  to  her  father,  had  forced  her  own  troubles  out  of  her 
mind  to  make  room  for  greater  griefs.  But  her  mien,  as  she 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  was  enough  to  tie  the  tongue 
of  Enoch  Bloodstone.  At  last  she  spoke,  but  still  in  a  whis 
per, - 

"  Have  you  come  at  such  a  time  as  this  to  marry  me  ?  You, 
Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone  !  At  a  time  when  my  father  is  perhaps 
lying  dead  at  the  foot  of  some  precipice,  or  perishing  by 
degrees  in  some  horrid  pit  where  he  has  fallen.  At  a  time 
when  my  poor,  suffering  mother  is  only  listening  with  anxious 
ears  to  hear  this  family  secret  which  you  pretend  to  bear,  to 
die  a  raving  maniac  in  her  helpless  heart-broken  daughter's 
aims  !  At  such  a  time  as  this,  do  you  dare  to  come  to  me  to 
be  married,  and  by  a  justice  of  the  peace  !  "  At  each  word,  she 
seemed  to  rise  in  the  air,  and  grow  more  lofty.  "  Go,  sir  ! " 
she  said,  turning  to  the  frightened  official.  "  The  poorest  ser 
vant  of  the  land  claims  and  obtains  the  blessing  of  the  church 
upon  her  nuptials.  We  shall  not  require  your  services,  at  least. 
Go!" 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  255 

The  door  closed  upon  the  retreating  justice  of  the  peace, 
before  the  words  were  quite  finished. 

Turning  to  Bloodstone,  without  stopping  even  to  take  breath, 
she  demanded,  still  in  a  whisper,  that  was  felt  rather  than 
heard,  — 

"  Where  is  my  father  ?  " 

Enoch  Bloodstone  had  evidently  come  with  the  intention  of 
carrying  off  things  with  the  same  high  hand  that  he  had  found 
so  successful  on  the  occasion  of  his  engagement  to  Helen  six 
weeks  before.  He  had  prepared  himself  for  the  same  easy 
conquest,  and  his  tone  had  the  harsh,  high  key,  and  his  manner 
was  the  same  swaggering,  insolent,  business  manner  of  that  day. 
But  one  glance  at  the  defiant  being  that  now  stood  before  him 
in  the  glory  of  her  suffering,  rising  up,  as  it  were,  to  get  her 
head  above  the  ocean  of  affliction  that  seemed  closing  over  her, 
told  him  plainly  that  such  was  no  longer  his  winning  card,  and 
that  impudence  would  not  now  avail  him. 

"  Sit  down,  Miss  Graham,  and  I  will  explain  all  about  it," 
he  said. 

He  drew  a  chair  up  by  the  sofa,  and  offered  it  to  her ;  with 
out  speaking,  she  took  the  seat.  He  sat  down  upon  the 
sofa. 

"  Miss  Graham  — ,"  he  began." 

But  here  she  stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

"Do  not  speak  so  loud,"  she  said. 

He  continued,  in  a  slightly  reduced  voice,  — 

"  Your  father,  as  you  must  have  been  aware,  has  been  for 
some  years  past  engaged  in  exploring  his  mine,  with  the  object, 
if  possible,  of  discovering  within  it  the  vein  of  silver-ore,  known 
as  the  Comstock  Lode.  When  I  arrived  here,  a  year  ago,  he 
had  already  expended  a  vast  sum  of  money  in  the  work.  He 
had  not  only  spent  all  of  the  money  that  he  himself  possessed, 
but  he  had  contracted  debts  to  a  very  considerable  extent, 
which  were  to  be  paid  when  he  should  be  able  to  raise  money 
from  the  silver  supposed  to  be  in  the  mine." 

"  But,"  whispered  Helen,  interrupting  him,  "  I  cannot  wait 
to  hear  this  long  history ;  tell  me  of  my  father ;  where  is  he, 
and  what  has  happened  to  him  ?  " 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Graham  ;  I  am  coming  to  that ;  it  is  part 
of  my  story.  Nothing  has  happened  to  your  father,  and  he  is 
in  perfect  safety.  The  truth  is,  that  he  has  gone  on  with  his  vast 
expenditure  until  he  can  go  no  farther.  Of  late  the  demands  of 
his  creditors  have  been  so  clamorous,  that  it  was  impossible  for 


256  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

him  to  face  them  any  longer.  He  has  therefore,  very  prudently, 
in  my  judgment,  withdrawn  himself  temporarily  from  the  Terri 
tory,  until  an  arrangement  can  be  made  so  that  he  can  again 
return." 

Helen  stared  at  Bloodstone  with  a  stupefied  look ;  she  did 
<not  appear  to  understand  him  quite. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  sir,  that  my  father  has  run  away 
from  his  creditors  ?  " 

"  Well,  Miss  Graham,  that  is  about  the  way  the  thing  stands, 
— but  with  this  circumstance  in  his  favor :  that  he  will  come 
back  again  just  as  soon  as  I  can  make  the  necessary  arrange 
ments.  The  necessary  compromise,  I  shall  proceed  to  make 
the  moment  we  are  married.  I  shall,  of  course,  not  want  my 
father-in-law  to  be  dodging  about  the  prairies  like  a  runaway 
horse-thief  any  longer  than  I  can  help  it." 

"  Then  why  did  you  let  him  run  away  like  a  horse-thief?  " 
demanded  Heleri,  with  more  coolness  than  she  had  shown  be 
fore.  "  Why  have  you,  his  intended  son-in-law,  permitted  this 
disgrace  to  come  upon  him  at  all,  if  you  are  so  unwilling  to  have 
it  continue  ?  " 

"You  are  a  woman,  Miss  Graham,  and  cannot  understand 
these  things.  Had  your  father  remained  here,  I  could  not  have 
made  a  favorable  compromise.  Indeed,  1  could  not  have  set 
tled  with  his  creditors  at  all ;  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  pay 
all  of  the  claims  in  full." 

"  What  was  the  objection  to  paying  them  in  full  ?  Were  they 
not  just  claims?" 

"You  cannot,  I  say  again,  understand  these  things,  Miss 
Graham.  Women  never  can  understand  matters  of  business. 
It  would  have  made  a  difference  of  at  least  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  had  he  remained.  The  claims  are  all  held  by  San  Fran 
cisco  merchants  and  manufacturers.  Now  that  he  is  out  of  the 
way,  you  understand,  we  can,  while  we  are  there  on  our  wedding- 
tour,  take  them  all  up  for  about  one-quarter  of  the  amount.  It 
will  be  thought  that  I  do  this  as  his  son-in-law,  just  for  the  credit 
of  the  family ;  do  you  see  the  point,  Miss  Graham  ?  " 

"  Then  I  am  to  understand  that  my  father,  by  your  advice, 
has  run  away,  leaving  his  wife  upon  a  sick  bed,  perhaps  to  die 
of  anxiety  on  account  of  his  absence,  and  all  to  enable  you  to 
turn  your  wedding-tour  into  an  expedition  for  the  defrauding  his 
creditors  of  their  just  claims." 

This  she  said  with  a  tone  of  such  unspeakable  scorn,  that 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  25? 

even  tht  thick  skin  of  Enoch  Bloodstone  was  penetrated,  and 
he  was  made  to  wince  under  the  lash. 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Graham,  you  are  too  severe  in  your  strictures 
upon  a  transaction  which,  I  assure  you,  takes  place  in  this 
country  almost  every  day." 

"Then  it  is  high  time  for  all  respectable  people  to  get  out  of 
the  country  as  quickly  as  possible,"  she  answered,  with  con 
tinued  scorn  in  her  tone  and  manner.  "  I  have  never  been 
taught  to  believe  in  such  a  code  of  morals,  nor  can  I  conceive 
how  my  father  has  been  brought  to  it.  Whither  has  he  gone  ?  " 

"  He  left  last  night,  in  the  overland  coach;  though  that  must 
as  yet  remain  a  secret,  at  least  for  several  hours.  He  will  be 
in  Salt  Lake  City  by  to-morrow  morning  and  quite  beyond 
pursuit." 

"  When  will  he  return,  sir  ?  " 

"  He  cannot  come  back,  Miss  Graham,  as  I  said  before,  with 
any  degree  of  prudence,  till  his  liabilities  are  arranged  in  some 
manner.  That  I  shall  attend  to  as  soon  as  the  marriage  is 
over." 

"  You  must  attend  to  it  before  that,  Mr.  Bloodstone ;  for  I 
will  never  be  your  wife,  nor  the  wife  of  any  man  living,  while 
I  am  the  daughter  of  a  fugitive." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Miss  Graham,  that  you  do  not  intend 
to  marry  me  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  do  most  decidedly  say  it.  I  shall  not  think  of  consenting 
to  the  ceremony,  unless  my  father  be  present  and  consenting  to 
it.  This  engagement  was  brought  about,  as  you  well  know,  by 
your  influence  over  him.  I  promised  to  marry  you  because  it 
would  benefit  him,  and  for  no  other  reason.  It  appears  that  it 
has  not  been  of  any  benefit  to  him,  at  least  not  yet,  and  it  may 
never  be.  It  has  not  prevented  him  from  being  forced  to  se 
cretly  and  disgracefully  fly  from  the  country;  to  run  away  from 
his  creditors ;  and  therefore  I  can  see  of  no  advantage  it  has 
been  or  will  be  to  him.  You  say  that  you  intend  to  avail  your 
self  of  your  honeymoon  visit  to  San  Francisco,  to  arrange,  as 
you  call  it,  with  the  creditors.  I  know  nothing  of  that ;  I  only 
know  that,  at  a  time  when  my  father's  presence  was  of  absolute 
necessity  at  home,  to  save  perhaps  my  mother's  life,  you  have 
permitted  him  to  be  driven  away  from  his  family  like  a  common 
malefactor,  to  lurk  about  the  country  or  to  sneak  away  in  dis 
grace  out  of  it.  I  shall  not  marry,  as  I  said  to  you  once  before, 
unless  my  father  is  present  at  the  altar  to  give  me  away.  When 


258  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

that  is  the  case,  I  am  ready  to  fulfil  my  promise,  but  not 
before." 

"  But  is  that  fair,  Miss  Graham  ?"  he  asked ;  "  suppose  your 
father  should  never  come  back,  — for  you  know  some  accident 
might  happen  to  him  in  his  travels,  so  that  he  couid  not  return 
fco  be  present  at  the  wedding,  —  am  I,  in  such  a  case,  to  be 
deprived  of  the  honor,  the  joy,  of  possessing  your  hand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  said  Helen.  "  If  anything  happens  to  my 
father  because  of  this  disgraceful  affair,  I  shall  consider  you 
responsible  for  it,  and  I  will  never  marry  you  !  " 

Here  Helen  gradually  broke  down.  She  could  not  maintain 
her  lofty  mien  longer.  She  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and 
clasping  her  hands  together  implored  him  for  pity  upon  the 
wretched  family. 

"  Mr.  Bloodstone,  believe  me,  that  I  will  gladly  be  your  wife,  if 
it  will  bring  back  my  dear  father.  Oh,  let  him  come  home  to  my 
mother,  who  will  surely  die  if  he  is  kept  away.  Only  let  him 
come  home,  and  here  are  my  hand  and  my  poor,  shattered 
heart.  You  shall  be  welcome  to  them.  I  will  marry  you  the 
next  moment  after  he  comes  into  this  room.  Believe  me, 
I  will  do  so.  Oh,  you  can  bring  him  to  us ;  you  can 
make  my  darling  mother  well  again ;  and,  when  that  is 
done,  if  you  wish  her  unhappy  daughter,  she  shall  be  yours,  — 
yours  with  my  blessing.  Forgive  me  for  the  hard  things  I  have 
said  to  you."  Here  she  held  out  her  hands  imploringly  to  him. 
"  Bring  him  back  to  us  and  take  all  we  have  else  in  the  world." 
She  could  go  no  farther,  for  her  sobs  choked  her  voice.  Blood 
stone  arose  and  came  to  her. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  cheer  up,  Miss  Graham.  I  will  bring 
back  your  father,  on  my  honor  as  a  gentleman.  But  you  must 
let  me  do  it  in  my  own  way.  Let  me  call  in  a  justice  of  the 
peace ;  or,  if  that  does  not  please  you,  I  will  have  a  minister, 
and  let  us  be  married." 

He  thought  he  had  gained  his  point,  but  he  was  mistaken. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  not  now,  Mr.  Bloodstone ;  I  cannot  trust 
you.  You  have  broken  faith  with  me  in  allowing  my  father  to 
be  driven  out  of  the  country  by  his  difficulties.  But  bring  to 
me  a  letter  from  my  father,  stating  that  still  he  favors  your  suit 
and  it  will  gratify  him,  and  I  will  then  marry  you.  Will  that 
content  you?"  she  said,  imploringly. 

"  1  have  already  brought  you  one  letter  from  him  to  that 
effect,"  answered  Bloodstone.  "  Your  father  does  not  want  to 
be  writing  me  up  all  of  the  time." 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


259 


"  True,  sir ;  but  that  was  before  this  change  in  his  circum 
stances.  He  may  not  be  still  friendly  to  your  suit.  Only  con 
vince  me  that  he  is  so,  and  that  my  becoming  your  wife  will 
give  him  to  us  again ;  and  bring  with  you,  at  the  same  time,  your 
justice  of  the  peace,  for  I  will  marry  you  on  the  spot." 

Mr.  Bloodstone  was  on  the  point  of  replying  to  this,  when  a- 
heavy  fall  was  heard  at  the  door  of  Matilda's  room. 

"Gracious  heavens  !"  cried  Helen,  springing  up,  "what  was 
that  ?  "  With  one  bound  she  was  at  the  door.  Turning  to  Blood 
stone,  her  face  pale  with  terror,  she  could  only  say,  — 

"Fetch  the  doctor.  My  poor  mother  is  dead."  And  there 
she  lay  upon  the  floor,  where  she  had  swooned  and  fallen.  She 
had  risen  from  her  bed,  and  coming  to  the  door,  had  heard  a 
great  part  of  the  conversation  between  her  daughter  and  Blood 
stone,  until,  at  last  overcome  by  her  feelings,  she  could  hear  no 
more,  and  had  fallen  insensible  on  the  floor.  The  physician  was 
soon  in  the  room,  and  assistance  was  obtained.  Restoratives 
soon  brought  the  lady  to  something  like  life  again.  But  she  had 
had  a  severe  shock,  and  her  mind  had  been  seriously  affected. 
Dr.  Brierly  repeated  his  opiate  with  the  same  advice  to  Helen. 

"  She  must  sleep,  Miss  Graham ;  she  only  needs  rest  and  re 
pose.  But  that  she  must  have.  Her  constitution  is  not  seri 
ously  impaired,  and  the  proper  treatment  will  restore  her  to 
health." 

The  doctor  stayed  with  them  till  Matilda  had  been  brought 
under  the  influence  of  his  treatment. 

"  I  have  done  all  that  medical  skill  can  do,"  he  said,  on  go 
ing  away.  "It  remains  now  for  her  friends  to  assist  nature  in 
doing  the  rest.  Her  mind  must  be  put  at  ease.  If  she  has 
afflictions  or  misfortunes,  they  must  be  concealed  from  her  or  re 
moved.  If  she  has  any  great  desire,  it  must  be  gratified,  if  it  be 
possible,  immediately.  If  this  cannot  be,  then  she  must  be 
made  to  believe  that  it  will  be  done  at  an  early  moment." 
And  so  he  went  away,  leaving  Helen  alone  with  the  invalid. 

Bloodstone  had  taken  himself  off  directly  that  the  doctor 
came.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  willing  to  witness  the  suffering 
of  the,  for  a  time,  apparently  dying  wife,  or  the  grief  of  the  de 
voted  and  terror-stricken  daughter. 

The  news  of  the  flight  of  Mr.  Graham  had  already  become 
public  in  the  town.  Knots  of  men  could  be  seen  about  the 
street  corners,  eagerly  discussing  the  extraordinary  circumstance, 
for  such  it  was.  That  Mr.  Graham  should  fail  to  pay  his  debts 
was  not  a  matter  to  create  the  least  surprise  in  Washoe  at  the 


260  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

time  of  which  we  write.  The  wonder  was  that  he  had  held  out 
so  long.  It  was  admitted  by  all  that  he  had  gone  on  a  whole 
year  longer  than  any  one  had  ever  expected  him  to  do.  But 
the  inexplicable  mystery  lay  in  the  fact  that  he  had  thought  it 
necessary  to  fly  from  the  Territory,  or  even  to  abscond. 

Why  should  he  do  so?  There  was  no  law  for  im 
prisonment  for  debt.  His  freedom  to  go  at  large  was 
not  in  danger,  and,  as  for  the  obloquy  which  it  might 
be  thought  would  attach  to  failure,  in  a  mining  community,  that 
was  absolutely  nothing.  Delving  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  for 
the  precious  metals  is  a  pursuit  so  uncertain  in  character,  and 
so  filled  with  disappointments  in  practice,  that  every  man  en 
gaged  in  it  feels  himself  liable  to  be  placed  in  that  situation  at 
any  moment.  So  long  as  his  debts  have  been  contracted  with 
a  reasonable  amount  of  good  faith,  that  is,  with  the  intention  at 
the  time  to  pay,  his  being  afterwards  prevented  from  doing  so 
in  consequence  of  his  mine  not  proving  remunerative,  involves 
inconveniences  of  various  kinds,  but  never  anything  like  dis 
grace.  Merchants  dealing  with  mining  communities  acknowl 
edge  this  uncertainty,  and  make  allowances  for  it.  The  profits 
are  considerable,  for  the  chances  of  payment  are  impaired  by 
the  treacherous  nature  of  the  chief  source  of  the  wealth  of  the 
community.  This  was  the  main  point  under  discussion  in  the 
case  of  the  sudden  and  extraordinary  disappearance  of  Mr.  Gra 
ham.  "  Why  should  he  have  run  away  ?  "  said  all,  with  one  voice. 
"The  most  his  creditors  could  have  done  was  to  seize  his  mines, 
and  that  they  will  do  anyhow."  But,  after  much  discussion,  the 
majority  settled  down  to  the  notion  that  it  was  the  old  gentle 
man's  pride  that  had  driven  him  to  the  extraordinary  measure. 
Mr.  Graham's  conduct  was  discussed  much  as  the  last  act  of 'a 
suicide. is  apt  to  be  discussed.  The  deed  bein'g  unaccountable 
upon  any  ordinary  rule  of  human  action,  each  individual  vied 
with  his  fellows  in  finding  some  reason  more  absurd  and  improb 
able  than  the  other. 

"It  was  his  honesty,"  cried  one.  "I  never  knew  so  high- 
toned  a  man  in  my  life.  He  might  have  been  worth  his  millions 
if  he  had  only  made  a  joint  stock  company  of  his  mine  and  sold 
it  out.  But  no,  he  would  never  say  that  he  had  struck  the  vein, 
till  he  had  done  so,  and,  of  course,  such  a  man  can't  sell  shares. 
Look  at  Withergreen  of  the  Pactolus,  he  is  one  of  the  richest 
men  at  'The  Bay.'  He  wouldn't  have  a  mine  that  had  an 
ounce  of  pay  rock  in  it.  If  he  should  strike  the  vein,  he  would 
put  his  shaves  on  tr  2  board  the  next  day  and  sell  all  out  clean. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

He  makes  his  money  by  stealing  the  funds  raised  by  assess 
ments  on  the  stock.  Old  Graham  is  too  honest  for  that ;  so  he 
is  too  honest  for  the  Territory  and  has  left  it,  like  a  sensible 
fellow." 

Another  thought  he  had  cleared  out  because  his  wife  was 
dangerously  ill ;  "  the  old  gentleman  was  so  tender-hearted  that 
he  couldn't  bear  to  see  her  suffer,  so  he  cut  his  stick  and  left 
the  place."  "No,  that  is  not  the  reason,"  said  a  third.  "His 
daughter  is  the  handsomest  woman  in  the  world,  so  they  say, 
and  the  father  was  ambitious  to  marry  her  to  some  great  man, 
and  he  could  have  done  it,  had  she  obeyed  him,  but  she  fell  in 
love  with  his  superintendent,  a  dirty  fellow  named  Bloodstone, 
and  wanted  to  marry  him.  The  old  man  wouldn't  consent, 
and  as  she  persists  in  her  resolution,  he  wouldn't  stay  to  see 
himself  disgraced." 

Such  were  the  conjectures  of  people  who  only  saw  a  wholly 
unnecessary  step  taken  by  a  man  in  difficulties. 

It  soon,  however,  settled  down  to  be  believed  by  the  public, 
that  Mr.  Graham  had  been  an  honest  gentleman,  with  over 
much  pride  and  of  a  highly  sensitive  nature,  and  that,  in  a 
moment  of  weakness,  he  had  taken  a  step  which  would  be 
perhaps  soon  retraced. 

"  He  won't  be  gone  long,"  said  most  people.  "  His  wife  and 
daughter  are  still  here,  and  he  will  come  back  to  look  after 
them  before  long." 

All  were  sorry  for  the  honest  gentleman,  but  his  misfortunes 
hadn't  been  exceptional  in  the  new  Territory ;  half  of  the  men 
who  were  sorry  for  him  had  been  in  as  great  straits  as  he  was, 
when  he  ran  away,  twice  thrice,  perhaps  a  score  of  times,  and 
thought  they  would  be  very  fortunate  indeed  could  they  be 
assured  that  they  would  not  be  so  again  as  many  times  more. 
They  were  sorry  for  him,  and  their  sympathy  would  at- any  mo 
ment  have  taken  a  more  practical  form,  had  they  supposed  that 
either  he  or  any  of  his  family  were  in  need  of  a  more  substan 
tial  kind  of  charity. 


OF   THF. 

UNIVERSITY 


262 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE* 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

MRS.     GRAHAM    GOES    UPON   A   JOURNEY. 

ON  the  night  that  was  to  have  been  her  wedding  night, 
Helen  was  left  alone  with  her  mother.  The  doctor  called  at 
eleven  o'clock,  and  found  Matilda  still  sleeping  under  the  effects 
of  his  medicine. 

"She  is  doing  well,"  he  said,  "and  only  needs  tranquilizing  to 
wholly  recover." 

When  he  was  gone,  Helen  drew  her  chair  up  by  her  mother's 
bed,  and  turning  down  the  light,  sat  watching  till  morning. 
About  nine  o'clock,  Matilda  awoke,  and  called  her  daughter. 
She  was  still  weak,  but  quite  calm. 

"Tell me,  Baby,"  she  said,  "what  that  man  told  you  about 
your  father's  going  away  ;  I  could  not  hear  it  all." 

Helen  hesitated,  but  her  mother  continued,  — 

"  I  can  bear  it  now,  without  harm  to  me." 

Then  Helen  told  her  that  her  father  had  been  advised  by 
Mr.  Bloodstone  to  withdraw  himself  from  the  Territory  for  a 
time,  till  his  affairs  could  be  arranged  with  his  creditors. 

Mrs.  Graham  listened  to  the  story  calmly,  putting  occasional 
questions  upon  points  that  she  did  not  understand. 

When  Helen  had  finished,  her  mother  lay  in  silence  for  some 
time. 

"  It  is  very  strange,  she  said,  "  your  father  went  away  saying 
that  he  was  going  to  the  mine,  and  he  has  never  deceived  me 
in  his  life.  He  must  have  gone  to  the  mine,  Helen."  Then 
she  lay  a  little  while  longer  and  continued,  — 

"  If  that  man's  story  be  true,  we  will  have  a  letter  from  your 
father  within  a  very  few  days,  will  we  not,  my  Baby  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mamma,  he  will,  no  doubt,  write  to  us  from  the  first 
convenient  place." 

"  Where  will  that  be,  Helen  ?" 

"  From  Salt  Lake  City,  I  suppose,  mamma,  as  he  journeys 
eastward.  He  will,  no  doubt,  write  directly  that  he  arrived 
there." 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  263 

"And  his  letter ;  when  will  it  reach  us  ?  " 

"This  is  Tuesday  morning;  papa  went  a\\ay  on  Sunday 
evening ;  we  should  hear  from  him  by  Saturday  evening,  without 
fail." 

"Well,  we  shall  know  by  Saturday  if  the  man's  story  be 
true  or  false,"  she  said  ;  and  so  the  conversation  ended  for  the 
fime. 

The  good  Doctor  Brierly  stepped  in  for  a  friendly  call  a  half 
dozen  times  each  day.  "He  did  not  come  to  see  Mrs. 
Graham,"  he  said,  with  that  delicacy  and  tact  which  seems  so 
natural  to  medical  gentleman.  "It  was  no  longer  neces 
sary  to  do  so,  for  she  was  getting  on  so  well  now,  that  she 
could  afford  to  'throw  physic  to  the  dogs.'  He  was  just 
passing  in  the  hall,  and  looked  in  to  see  that  his  nurse,"  as  he 
called  Helen,  "  was  not  overdoing  herself." 

But  his  cheerful  voice  and  presence  worked  wonders,  and 
each  day  the  invalid  gained  strength  and  what  was  better, 
tranquility. 

Matilda  was  herself  once  more,  in  all  save  one  respect. 
She  appeared  to  have  an  unnatural  sensation  of  horror  at  the 
ever-present  idea  of  Enoch  Bloodstone  ;  she  could  not  drive 
that  man  out.  of  lior  mind.  Though  she  seldom  referred  to 
him,  except  by  indirection,  yet  it  was  plain  to  Helen  that  she 
thought  more  about  him  than  was  good  for  her.  This  was 
especially  evinced  in  her  unwillingness  to  permit  her  daughter 
to  leave  the  room,  or  even  to  sit  in  a  part  of  it  where  she  could 
not  see  her.  She  seldom  gave  any  reason  for  this  morbid 
anxiety  for  her  daughter's  safety,  but  Helen  suspected  the  secret 
of  it  from  the  first. 

One  day,  when  she  wished  to  go  into  the  parlor  for  some 
reason,  her  mother  called  her  to  the  bed-side  and  beseeched 
her,  in  pitiful  tones,  not  to  go  with  that  man. 

"Stay  with  me,  Baby,"  she  cried,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  He 
has  taken  all  that  I  love,  save  only  you,  and  now  he  has  come 
to  take  you  also  ; — do  not  leave  me." 

Helen  calmed  her  mother  as  well  as  she  could.  "  It  is  not 
Mr.  Bloodstone,  dear  mamma.  He  has  not  come  for  me,  and 
if  he  does  come,  I  shall  not  go  with  him." 

But  Matilda  drew  her  child  to  her  arms,  and  folded  her  con 
vulsively  in  them. 

"  The  slaughterer  of  innocents  was  at  the  door,  with  his 
reeking  sword,  and  she  would  defend  her  first-born  with  her 
life." 


264  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

From  this  time,  Helen  could  not  safely  leave  the  room,  even 
for  an  instant,  day  or  night.  Matilda  appeared  well  enough,  so 
long  as  she  could  see  her  Baby  present  before  her  eyes,  and 
hear  her  voice  in  the  room.  She  must  have  Baby's  hand  in 
hers  when  she  slept,  and  to  withdraw  it  was  to  awaken  her. 

The  doctor  was  now  in  and  out  of  the  room  every  half  hour 
throughout  the  day,  but  his  excuses  for  coming  were  always  so 
ingeniously  formed  that  even  Helen  thought  that  Virginia  must 
be  a  healthy  place,  and  that  the  poor  doctor's  time  hung 
heavily  on  his  hands. 

She  found  that  she  was  well  served  in  all  things.  Mrs.  Fogg, 
the  wife  of  the  hotel  keeper,  took  early  note  of  the  distress  in 
No.  1 6,  and  appeared  to  be  always  in  the  parlor,  or  within  easy 
call. 

Charley  Hunter,  who  had  never  lost  sight  of  his  strange  em 
ployment,  now  spent  nearly  the  whole  of  his  days  sitting,  like  a 
sentinel,  patiently,  and  bolt  upright,  in  the  parlor,  ready  to  com 
fort  or  assist  Helen,  when  required  to  do  so;  but  he  did  not 
have  an  opportunity  to  more  than  speak  with  her,  a  word  at 
the  door,  for  a  whole  day  at  a  time,  as  Helen  was  kept  so  close 
at  her  mother's  bed  side. 

Jack  Gowdy  had  arrived  on  Monday  evening,  from  over  the 
mountains,  and  learned  of  the  mysterious  flight  of  Mr.  Gra 
ham.  It  did  not  surprise  him  greatly.  "  The  old  gentleman 
was  always  too  honest  for  this  country,"  he  said.  Then  he 
declared  his  opinion  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  Graham  had  been 
driven  out  of  the  Territory  by  his  dread  of  facing  what  others 
met  with  brazen  assurance. 

But  Jack  did  not  forget  the  family,  though  he  did  not  call  at 
No.  1 6.  during  that  trip.  He  repaired  at  once  to  the  office  df 
the  hotel,  and  asked  for  the  landlord.  When  that  gentleman 
made  his  appearance,  the  stage-driver  called  him  aside. 

"  Fogg,"  said  he,  "  they  say  old  Graham  has  sloped  for  Salt 
Lake,  and  left  his  family  here  ;  and  as  he  vamosed  to  get  out 
of  the  way  of  his  creditors,  I  don't  suppose  they  have  got  any 
J  too  much  coin.  They  may  have  some,  but  not  a  hatfull,  and 
it  takes  a  bushel  to  live  in  this  country,  a  week.  I  just  hap 
pened,  as  I  came  up  stairs,  to  remember  that  I  owed  the  old 
man  five  hundred  dollars  that  he  lent  me  last  week,  when  I  was 
a  little  hard  up  for  cash.  Now,  without  saying  anything  about 
it,  I  want  to  give  that  money  to  you  to  be  applied  to  paying 
the  expenses  of  the  family,  till  they  hear  from  him.  Do  you 
understand  me,  Fogg  ?  " 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  265 

"  Yes,"  said  the  landlord,  in  a  tone  that  showed  evident 
marks  of  gathering  displeasure,  "I  understand  you,  but  I 
don't  believe  a  word  you  say.  There  is  not  a  man  in  Washoe 
Territory,  outside  of  a  lunatic  asylum;  that  would  lend  you  two 
dollars  and  a  half,  Jack.  I  see  through  your  dodge ;  you  want 
to  give  the  women  five  hundred  dollars.  That  is  all  right,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  they  will  need  it  before  long  ;  but  it  won't  be 
to  pay  hotel  bills  with.  You  can't  lend  them  money  in  that  way 
through  me.  Ben  Fogg  may  not  know  how  to  keep  much  of 
an  hotel,  but  he  don't  turn  distressed  women  out  of  the  one 
that  he  does  keep,  whether  they  have  a  hatfull  of  money,  or 
whether  they  have  not  got  a  red  cent.  He  doesn't  run  his 
hotel  on  that  principle.  When  you  hear  that  he  does,  you  can 
come  around  with  your  coin."  This  said,  and  without  waiting 
to  hear  Jack's  apologies,  the  indignant  landlord  turned  his 
back,  and  walked  off,  leaving  the  stage-driver  standing  dis- 
comntted  at  the  office  window. 

The  next  trip,  Jack's  coach  looked  more  like  a  perambulat 
ing  hot-house,  than  a  mail-coach.  It  was  covered  with  all  sorts 
of  flowers,  in  boxes  and  pots,  and  the  locker  under  the  driver's 
seat  was  filled  with  fruit,  all  destined  to  No.  16,  American 
Eagle  Hotel.  When  he  arrived,  he  immediately  mounted  the 
stairs  with  his  movable  garden  in  his  arms.  Charley  Hunter 
was  on  guard  at  the  door,  and  received  him  and  his  offerings. 
"She  can't  leave  her  mother's  bed-side,"  he  said,  in  answer  to 
Jack's  inquiry  ;  "she  has  not  even  been  in  the  parlor,  to-day. 
She  comes  to  the  door,  sometimes,  to  tell  me  to  do  something, 
or  go  about  an  errand ;  but  she  only  does  that  in  a  whisper,  so 
you  can't  see  her,  Mr.  Gowdy,  I  am  quite  sure." 

"Oh,  bless  you,"  cried  Jack,  "I  don't  want  to  see  her. 
Just  let  these  things  sit  here,  that  is  all  I  want.'-' 

So  they  were  deposited  about  the  floor,  and  in  the  windows, 
and  the  driver  went  his  way. 

On  Wednesday,  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone  called,  but  Helen 
had  already  discovered  the  effect  of  that  gentleman's  presence 
upon  her  mother  ;  so  she,  with  a  boldness  not  usual  to  her, 
told  him  that  in  her  mother's  present  condition,  she  could  see 
no  one  except  the  physician,  and  asked  him  not  to  come  again 
until  there  should  be  an  improvement  in  her  health. 

Matilda  remained  in  about  the  same  condition  during  the 
week,  contented  and  well  enough  so  long  as  her  daughter 
was  actually  in  her  immediate  presence.  Helen  had  no 
remembrance  of  the  subject  of  her  father's  absence,  being  again 


266  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

mentioned  after  the  first  time  on  Tuesday  morning.  But  at 
last  the  tedious  days  and  dreary  nights  of  the  week  had 
nearly  lapsed  out  of  the  way,  and  Saturday  morning  came. 
Matilda  awoke,  much  improved;  she  was  even  cheerful.  She 
called  her  daughter  to  her  from  the  window,  and  embraced 
her  smilingly. 

"This  is  the  day  we  are  to  have  the  letter  from  papa,  is 
it  not,  Baby?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  dear  mother,"  said  Helen,  trying  to  appear  as  hope 
ful  as  the  invalid  appeared  to  be. 

She  had  been  expecting  the  letter  daily,  since  her  father 
had  gone  away ;  she  had  purposely  put  the  time  at  a  con 
siderable  distance  ahead,  in  telling  her  mother  when  to  look 
for  it,  fearing  the  effect  of  a  disappointment.  But  she  had 
herself  suffered  grievously  in  mind,  as. each  day  passed  and 
no  word  was  brought  from  the  absent  one.  She  could  not 
understand  it,  rack  her  brain  as  she  would.  That  her  father, 
borne  down  by  the  weight  of  his  overwhelming  difficulties, 
should  at  last  yield  under  the  pressure,  was  not  a  thing,  in 
itself,  to  be  wondered  at.  But  that  he  should  fail  in  so 
obvious  a  duty  as,  during  his  absence,  to  write  to  his  ailing 
wife  and  to  his  sorrowing,  overburdened  daughter,  to  tell  even 
of  his  whereabouts,  was  so  utterly  inconsistent  with  his  char 
acter  as  to  be  unaccountable.  But  she  had  carefully  con 
cealed  her  growing  uneasiness  from  her  mother. 

"At  what  hour  does  the  overland  coach  arrive  this  after 
noon,  Baby  ?  " 

"  About  five  o'clock  is  its  usual  hour  of  arrival,  mamma." 

"  Then  we  shall  have  our  letter  by  six,  shall  we  not  ? " 
said  the  mother,  anxiously.  I 

"  Yes,  mother,"  answered  Helen  ;  but  the  speech  almost 
died  in  her  throat,  when  she  thought  of  what  might  be  the 
consequences  of  disappointment.  Matilda  turned  her  face 
upon  the  pillow  with  composure.  She  was  counting  the 
hours  and  the  minutes  that  must  elapse,  before  the  missive 
could  reach  her  hands.  At  six  o'clock,  almost  to  a  second,  she 
called  Helen. 

"  Has  the  letter  come?  " 

"  Not  yet,  mamma,"  and  then,  to  pave  the  way  for  a  post 
ponement  of  the  time,  she  continued,  —  "it  may  net  get  here 
'to-day,  you  know.  To-morrow  we  shall  commence  to  expect 
it  with  more  confidence." 

"It  will  come  to-day ,  if  we  have  been  told  the  truth  about 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  267 

where  he  is,"  said  the  mother,  in  a  tone  so  positive,  that  Helen 
scarcely  dared  to  interpose  so  much  as  a  doubt.  "  If  your 
father's  letter  does  not  reach  us  this  evening,  it  is  because  that 
man  will  not  let  him  write  to  us." 

"  Dear  mamma,  how  can  he  prevent  his  writing.  Papa  can 
write  when  he  pleases  to  do  so.  Mr.  Bloodstone  is  in  Virginia 
at  this  moment,  and  papa  is  at  Salt  Lake  City,  or  on  his  way 
thither,  and  it  cannot  be  in  the  power  of  that  gentleman  to 
prevent  him." 

Matilda  made  no  reply  to  this  argument.  She  seemed  not 
to  have  heard  it.  No  more  was  said  about  the  letter  till  nine 
o'clock,  when  the  invalid  awoke  from  a  short  sleep,  and  sat  up 
in  bed.  Then,  looking  about  her,  as  if  not  quite  sure  where 
she  was,  she  inquired  again  if  the  letter  had  come.  Helen 
was  obliged  to  say  that  it  had  not. 

"  But,  dear  mamma,  I  am  sure  that  it  will  come  to-morrow 
evening.  Do  believe  your  Baby,  this  time,  and  wait  pa 
tiently  just  one  day  more  ;  I  am  sure  you  will  not  be  asked  to 
wait  longer." 

"Will  it  please  you,  Baby?"  asked  her  mother,  kissing  her 
child,  and  lovingly  stroking  her  golden  hair. 

"  Yes,  dear  mamma ;  it  will  please  me  to  see  you  cheer 
fully  waiting,  for  I  am  sure  it  will  come." 

Matilda  drew  her  daughter  closer  to  her  breast,  as  though, 
instead  of  a  lady  taller  than  -herself,  she  still  held  in  her  arms 
the  tender  infant  that  lady  had  once  been. 

"  I  will  wait  one  more  day,  Baby,  to  please  you.  But  if  I 
do  not  then  hear  from  him,  I  must  not  stay  here  longer, 
darling  ;  I  must  go  and  search  for  him." 

Helen  felt  a  sensation  of  fear  creeping  through  her  heart 
at  this  remark. 

Was  her  poor  mother  again  wandering  in  her  mind  ? 

"  Stay  by  my  side,  closely,"  continued  the  mother,  rocking 
backward  and  forward,  with  her  daughter's  face  upon  her 
breast  ;  "  and  mamma  will  keep  the  wicked  man  from  coming 
and  taking  her  Baby  down  into  the  dark  mine." 

"  Lie  down,  dear  mamma,"  cried  the  now  terrified  daughter. 
"  Your  Baby  will  stay  with  you  ;  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep." 

Matilda  obeyed  without  a  murmur,  and  laid  her  head  upon 
the  pillow,  still  holding  her  daughter's  hand.  Helen  managed 
to  slip  to  the  door,  and  send  Charley  Hunter,  who,  as  usual, 
was  faithfully  at  his  post,  in  search  of  the  doctor.  But  when 
he  came,  he  saw  no  cause  for  alarm.  The  patient  was  resting 


268  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

composedly,  and  if  not  in  a  slumber,  was  at  least  too  quiet  to 
render  it  desirable  to  disturb  her  with  any  sort  of  treatment. 

Helen  did  not  leave  her  mother's  side  for  a  moment,  during 
the  night,  but  sat  erect,  or  rested  her  head  upon  the  side  of 
the  bed.  In  the  morning,  the  invalid  again  awoke,  apparently 
much  refreshed  by  her  night's  rest.  The  doctor  called,  and 
found  her  visibly  improved.  Helen  hoped  for  the  best,  but 
dreaded  the  night  and  the  non-arrival  of  the  expected  letter. 
All  day  Matilda  lay  with  her  hea<j  upon  the  pilloAv,  con 
versing  at  times  cheerfully,  but  the  letter  was  not  mentioned, 
nor  was  the  absence  of  Mr.  Graham  hinted  at.  As  night  ap 
proached,  the  daughter  thought  she  could  see  a  look  of 
occasional  wildness  come  over  her  mother's  face.  It  was 
as  if  the  chord  of  anxiety  was  being  drawn  too  tightly.  When 
the  watchful  daughter  would  observe  this,  a  thrill  of  terror 
would  rush  through  her  system ;  but  soon  she  would  see  the 
alarming  symptoms  pass  away,  as  she  thought,  and  the  invalid 
would  again  look  more  cheerful. 

So  passed  the  day  quite  down  to  six  o'clock,  the  moment 
most  dreaded  by  Helen,  and  now  to  her  surprise  the  expected 
letter  was  not  inquired  for. 

The  daughter  breathed  more  freely.  "  My  mother  has  for 
gotten  it,"  she  thought,  "and  the  night  will  pass  over  without 
the  frightful  business  being  referred  to." 

And  so  it  did  appear  to  be  doing,  for  nine  o'clock  came  and 
went,  and  then  ten,  and  then  eleven  o'clock,  and  at  last  mid 
night  and  after  midnight,  and  still  no  allusion  was  made  to  the 
subject  so  close  to  the  minds  of  both. 

The  hotel  and  the  town  were  now  slumbering  the  long  night 
sleep  of  the  weary  toiler,  and  the  air  was  free  from  disturbing 
sounds.  The  light  was  turned  down  low  in  No.  16.  Helen 
patiently  sat  at  her  mother's  bed-side,  holding  her  hand. 

Matilda  had  slept,  or  rather  dozed,  almost  continuously  since 
six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  her  daughter  was  full  of  hope 
for  an  improvement  in  her  health  on  the  morrow.  She  heard 
with  joy  the  clock  in  the  parlor  strike  two,  for  it  showed  the 
night  to  be  waning.  Just  as  the  sound  died  away,  she  was 
startled  by  her  mother  suddenly  sitting  up  in  bed  and  looking 
wildly  about  her.  Seeing  her  daughter  by  her  side,  she  said, 
"  Help  me  up,  Baby,  I  must  go;  I  have  waited  too  long,  I  shall 
be  late." 

"  Go  whither,  mamma  ?  "  asked  Helen,  frozen  with  terror. 

"  I  must  go  to  the  mine.     I  must  go  and  fetch  your  father 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  269 

away.  There  is  no  one  to  go  for  him  except  his  wife.  If  she 
forgets  him,  he  will  never  come  back  to  us.  That  man  will 
keep  him  for  ever." 

Helen  stood  up  and  tried  to  think  what  to  do.  She  started 
to  the  parlor  to  ring  or  send  for  help. 

"  Don't  leave  me,  don't  leave  me  a  moment,"  almost 
shrieked  the  invalid,  reaching  out  wildly  to  catch  hold  of  her 
daughter  and  detain  her.  "If  you  go  outside  the  door  he  will 
take  you  to  the  mine.  You,  my  precious  Baby,  my  treasure, 
my  life  ;  and  your  poor  mother  will  lose  you  as  she  has  lost 
your  father.  That  man  stands  without  the  door  at  this  mo 
ment  waiting  to  seize  you.  Come  to  me  quickly." 

This  was  said  with  such  a  burst  of  frenzy,  that  Helen  flew 
to  her  mother's  bed-side  and  was  instantly  clasped  in  her  arms. 
This  seemed  to  calm  her  for  a  time.  The  slaughterer  had 
been  kept  from  his  prey  for  at  least  the  present. 

"  Lie  still,  darling,"  moaned  the  mother,  "  mamma  will  pro 
tect  her  pet." 

So  she  sat  rocking  her  child  upon  her  breast  for  ten  minutes, 
at  times  singing  to  her,  while  poor  Helen's  heart  was  bursting 
with  grief  and  alarm.  At  last  the  mother  ceased  rocking,  and 
let  her  daughter  sit  up. 

"  Now  I  must  go  to  the  mine,  Baby,"  she  said  again,  "  and 
help  your  father  to  come  out ;  but  you  must  not  leave  the  room 
while  I  am  away.  Will  you,  precious  Baby  ?  " 

"  Oh,  darling  mother,"  cried  Helen,  with  the  purpose  of  hu 
moring  her  mother's  strange  conceit,  "  do  not  leave  your  Baby 
to-night  when  it  is  so  dark.  Can  you  not  go  to-morrow  as 
well  ?  " 

"  No,  mamma  will  not  be  here  to-morrow.  She  must  go  to 
night  or  she  can  never  go.  Your  mamma  ought  to  have  gone 
the  day  that  man  took  papa  into  the  mine.  But  she  did  not 
know  it  then.  She  did  not  know  till  to-night  that  he  was  in  the 
mine.  Now  she  does  know  it,  and  she  must  get  up  and  go  and 
help  him  to  come  out  of  the  horrid  dark  place.  There  is  no 
one  to  go  and  bring  him  away,  but  his  wife  who  has  always 
loved  him,  and  gone  with  him  in  her  heart  whithersoever  he  has 
gone.  If  she  does  not  help  him.  he  will  perish  in  the  mine 
where  the  wicked  men  have  kept  him." 

Here  she  made  an  effort  to  rise,  holding  to  her  terrified 
daughter's  shoulder  to  assist  herself. 

Helen  knew  not  what  to  do.  She  did  not  dare  to  restrain 
her  mother,  and  could  not  leave  her,  even  for  a  moment,  to  call 


270  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

help  without  incuring  the  danger  of  throwing  her  into  a  still 
more  violent  paroxysm.  But  the  invalid's  strength  soon  failed 
her,  and  she  fell  back  exhausted  upon  the  bed,  moaning  most 
piteously,  but  clinging  to  Helen's  hand  with  the  tenacity  of 
frenzy. 

"  Precious  Baby,"  she  pleaded,  "  assist  mamma  to  get  up." 

Helen  laid  her  cheek  against  her  mother's  to  reassure  her. 

"  Don't  go  to-night,  dear  mamma  ;  wait  till  it  is  light,  and  then 
go.  Do  this  to  please  Baby,  will  you  ?  " 

Matilda  raised  up  her  head  and  regarded  her  daughter.  This 
request  had  touched  a  chord  in  the  mother's  aching  heart.  This 
form  of  prayer  corning  from  her  child,  had  never,  in  all  these 
years,  been  refused. 

"  I  can't  go  to-morrow,"  she  said,  raising  herself  up  again  and 
sitting  in  the  bed,  and  looking  wildly  at  her  daughter  and  at 
the  door,  as  if  to  make  sure  that  the  slaughterer  with  his 
sword  was  not  there.  "  I  must  go  to-night,  or  never,  my  Baby." 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  then,  drawing  Helen  to  her  breast, 
and  rocking  her  head  back  and  forward  as  before,  she  said,  "  If 
mamma  will  not  go  down  in  the  mine  to-night,  will  Baby  help 
papa  to  come  out  when  mamma  is  away  and  cannot  go  to 
him?" 

Poor  Helen  was  so  stricken  with  terror  at  her  mother's  evi 
dent  delirium,  that  she  could  not  find  words  to  answer  her. 

"  Will  she,"  repeated  Matilda.  "  Will  Baby  help  papa  out  of 
the  dark  place  when  mamma  is  gone  away  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear  mamma,"  said  Helen,  almost  choking  with  her 
tears,  "  Baby  will  help  papa ;  she  will  have  him  brought  from 
the  mine,  and  fetch  him  home  again.  Indeed  she  will,  dearest; 
do  not  doubt  your  Baby,  she  will  not  forget  her  father,  but  will 
go  and  help  him." 

"  God  bless  my  precious  child,"  cried  the  frenzied  mother, 
covering  her  daughter  with  kisses,  "  I  was  sure  that  she  would 
do  it.  Do  not  fail,  my  Baby,  for  poor  papa  is  very  unhappy  in 
the  mine,  and  wonders  why  his  darling  wife,  who  has  always 
been  so  faithful  to  him,  has  not  come  before  and  taken  him 
away.  He  always  knew  that,  no  matter  what  the  world  did  to 
him,  his  Matilda  would  not  forget  him.  He  has  expected 
every  day  that  she  would  come  and  take  him  out  of  the  dark 
place.  He  did  not  know  how  ill  she  has  been,  or  he  would 
not  have  blamed  his  poor  wife,  who  has  always  loved  him  so 
much." 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  271 

Helen  still  held  her  cheek  against  her  mother's,  and  agreed 
with  her  in  all  things. 

"  Be  careful  about  going  out,  Baby,"  continued  the  mother, 
still  rocking  her  daughter,  "  that  man  must  not  see  you  ;  you 
must  go  out  when  he  is  not  at  the  door.  Will  you,  Baby?" 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  And  will  you  go  to  the  mine  and  help  papa  to  come  out  ?" 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"Then  lie  still  now,  and  go  to  sleep,  while  mamma  sings  to 
Baby ; "  and  the  invalid  mother,  holding  her  daughter  upon  her 
breast  in  the  darkness  of  night,  chanted  the  nursery  songs  with 
which  she  had  so  often  lulled  her  infant  to  sleep  years  ago,  but 
which  time,  to  her  disordered  and  grief-troubled  brain,  seemed 
still  upon  her. 

More  than  once  poor  Helen  essayed  to  rise  from  her  place, 
that  she  might  call  assistance  if  necessary,  but  her  mother  clung 
to  her  with  such  frantic  energy,  that  she  did  not  <dare  to  release 
herself  from  the  loving  arms  that  encircled  her.  The  least 
movement  on  the  part  of  the  daughter  aroused  the  fears  of  her 
mother  for  her  safety. 

"  Do  not  go  with  that  man,"  she  screamed,  again  and  again, 
as  Helen  would  try  even  to  sit  up  in  her  chair ;  "  he  will  take 
you  down  in  the  mine,  in  the  cold  dark  mine,  and  then  who  is 
to  go  and  bring  back  mamma's  poor  husband,  when  his  wife  is 
gone  away  from  him ;  do  not  forget  papa  who  is  in  the  mine, 
precious  Baby,  will  you  ?  " 

And  not  till  Helen  would  promise,  over  and  over  again,  to 
go  in  search  of  him  as  soon  as  it  was  light  enough  to  see,  would 
her  fears  be  soothed  down  once  more,  and  the  mother  resume 
the  patient  rocking  of  her  child,  and  sing  the  plaintive  cradle 
song. 

With  aching  heart,  and  eyes  blinded  with  tears,  the  daughter 
sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  holding  herself  so  that  her  mother's 
fancy  might  be  indulged  without  a  tax  upon  her  feeble  strength. 
She  counted  each  minute  that  elapsed,  praying  as  she  had  so 
often  done  of  late,  for  the  night  to  pass  speedily  away.  Her 
mother's  fancy  was  to  make  her  Baby  go  to  sleep,  and  the 
daughter  thought  that  by  simulating  slumber,  she  might  satisfy 
the  loving  heart,  and  that  then  the  invalid  would  forget  her 
troubles  in  that  rest  to  which  she  so  patiently  urged  her  child. 
So  she  lay  listening  to  the  lullaby,  that  had  so  often  hushed 
her  baby  voice  and  closed  her  eyes  in  happier  days,  waiting  for 
the  light  to  come. 


272  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

But  while  she  held  her  face  so  gently  on  her  mother s  tosom, 
the  song  ceased,  and  the  invalid  raised  her  daughter's  head  sud 
denly  up  and  spoke  to  her. 

"  Helen,"  she  said,  in  a  soft  but  steady  whisper,  "  Have  you 
understood  what  I  have  now  told  you  about  your  father  being 
in  the  mine  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  And  that  you  have  promised  to  bring  him  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  mamma." 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  will  not  forget  it?" 

"Quite  sure,  darling  mamma." 

The  mother  gazed  in  her  daughter's  eyes  a  minute,  and  then 
drew  her  again  to  her  heart  and  kissed  her,  and  gently  stroked 
her  golden  hair,  as  she  had  always  done  when  hushing  her  in 
the  cradle. 

"You  must  say  your  prayers  now,  and  go  to  sleep.  Our  Fa 
ther,  which  art  in  heaven,  — 

-'  Our  father,  which  art  in  heaven,"  repeated  Helen,  after  her 
mother,  as  she  had  done  in  the  days  of  her  childhood.  And  so 
the  mother  went  on  to  the  end,  waiting  at  convenient  intervals 
for  Helen  to  follow  in  the  prayer. 

"  For  thine  shall  be  the  Kingdom,  and  the  Power,  and  the 
Glory,  for  ever  and  ever,  Amen." 

"  Amen,"  said  Helen,  trying  to  keep  down  the  sobs,  so  that 
the  invalid  might  not  hear  them. 

"  Now  take  a  sweet  kiss,  Baby,  and  go  to  sleep,"  said  the 
mother,  when  the  prayer  was  finished,  and  again  the  gentle  rock 
ing  was  resumed,  and  the  lullaby  went  up  faintly  from  her  lips, 
growing  each  moment  lower  and  more  indistinct. 

Helen  thought  that  her  mother's  disordered  fancy  was  recon-! 
ciled  by  her  promise  to  go  in  search  of  her  father,  and  was  sink 
ing  into  a  gentle  and  refreshing  slumber. 

Slowly  Matilda's  head  sank  back  upon  her  pillow,  the  soft 
and  loving  cheek  of  her  daughter  going  with  it,  and  touching 
it  as  it  went.  The  lullaby  ceased  as  if  the  child  and  not  the 
mother  was  at  rest.  The  mother  whispered  faintly,  "  Good 
night,  precious  Baby." 

"Good-night,  mamma/'  the  daughter  answered,  and  Matilda 
Graham  slept  with  her  golden  haired  Baby  in  her  arms. 

But  it  was  not  that  sleep  that  the  nurse  so  tender,  and  so 
anxious,  thought  it  was.  The  sleep  of  that  gentle,  loving  nature, 
was  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking.  The  wife  and  mother, 
who  had  poured  a  flood  of  sunshine  upon  the  hearts  of  all  who 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  273 

revolved  about  her,  had  set  off  upon  her  lonely  journey  without 
bidding  adieu  to  the  glorious  orb  of  day.  She  who  had  illu 
mined  the  paths  of  so  many,  with  the  pure  and  sacred  light  of 
her  love,  had  herself  passed  away  in  the  black  and  gloomy  night. 

There  was  a  great  rushing  to  and  fro  in  the  American  Eagle 
Hotel  long  after  midnight.  Fearful  screams  had  been  heard 
coming  from  No.  16,  so  long,  so  heart-rending,  that  the  whole 
house  was  turned  out  of  bed  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  midnight 
woe. 

Ben  Flagg,  the  burly  landlord,  followed  by  his  kind-hearted 
wife,  were  first  to  enter  the  solitary  room  and  to  view  the  touch 
ing  picture. 

Helen  Graham  had  been  calling  for  help,  and  in  her  terror 
she  had  screamed  many  times.  But  aid  had  been  long  in  coin 
ing,  and  her  own  efforts  to  restore  her  mother  to  consciousness, 
had  only  served  to  inform  her  too  surely  of  the  great  change 
that  had  come  over  the  pale  and  silent  form  that  lay  in  her 
arms,  already  cold  in  death.  Doctor  Brierly  was  in  the  room  al 
most  as  soon  as  any,  and  announced  to  the  landlady  that  all  was 
over. 

"  Come  away,"  she  said  to  Helen,  after  a  little  time,  taking 
her  gently  in  her  arms  to  withdraw  the  living  from  the  dead. 

"  Not  yet,"  sobbed  the  stricken  daughter.  "  Oh  !  not  yet,  my 
poor  mamma  was  singing  me  to  sleep  only  a  moment  ago.  The 
prayers  and  good-night  have  scarcely  left  her  lips.  Do  not  take 
me  away  yet." 

There  were  many  moist  eyes  around  the  death-bed,  for  all  had 
loved  the  lady  that  was  gone,  and  knew  well  the  story  of  sor 
row  that  had  broken  the  gentle  heart  that  now  lay  still  before 
them. 


274:  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  FRIEND   COMES  TO   SEE  HELEN. 

THE  sorrow  that  had  come  upon  the  beautiful  young  lady  in 
No.  1 6  was  soon  known,  not  only  in  the  American  Eagle  Hotel, 
but  at  the  Washoe  House,  and  so  from  hotel  to  hotel.  The  sad 
news  spread  itself  rapidly  up  and  down  the  sides  of  Mount  Da 
vidson,  making  its  way  along  the  streets  and  highways,  into  the 
public  houses,  and  private  houses,  as  well  as  the  gambling  sa 
loons,  the  whiskey  shops,  and  the  Dead-falls ;  and  so  with  the 
frequenters  of  such  places,  the  miners,  down  into  the  bowels  of 
the  earth  under  the  town.  But  wherever  the  story  found  its 
way,  the  sympathy  was  as  universal  as  the  listeners  were  varied. 

The  grief-stricken  daughter  might  feel  herself  a  cast  away 
upon  the  great  sea  of  life.  She  might  think  in  her  wretched 
ness  that  there  was  nothing  left  for  her  but  to  lie  down  and  die, 
forgotten  by  all  the  world.  But  this  was  not  the  fault  of  the 
thousands  of  sympathizing  hearts  within  an  area  of  a  mile,  who 
would  freely  have  contributed  to  her  wants  from  their  store,  but 
who  did  not  know  in  what  manner  to  approach,  or  bring  about 
the  charity.  Amongst  all  the  reproaches  that  may  be  justly 
made  against  the  young  communities  of  America,  and  God 
knows  they  are  sufficiently  numerous,  a  denial  of  the  claims  of 
sorrowing  humanity  cannot  be  placed. 

,  True,  these  mining  populations  are  drawn  together  by  the  at> 
•/  traction  of  gain.  They  are  composed  wholly  of  wealth-seekers. 
Into  the  struggle  they  throw  themselves  with  a  fierceness  that 
makes  the  contest  a  veritable  civil  war ;  each  man  fights  as 
men  fight  who  are  struggling  over  a  single  plank  left  them  in  a 
shipwreck.  They  make  of  this  war  for  gold  a  desperate  hand- 
to-hand  struggle,  in  which,  not  always,  but  too  often,  they  for 
get  what  is  due  to  religion,  to  morality,  and  even  to  honor. 
But  the  prize  once  obtained  is  not  more  highly  esteemed  than 
any  other.  The  gold  so  hardly  earned  is  freely  spent,  or  even 
given  away  at  charity's  call.  Though  Helen  Graham  was 
known  to  have  been  abandoned  by  a  bankrupt  father,  and  left 
probably  without  the  means  of  procuring  food  for  a  single  day. 
yet  it  is  certain  that  she  could  have  remained  in  No.  16  for  an 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  275 

indefinite  period  without  herself  being  informed  of  her  destitute 
condition.  Her  orders  for  necessary  goods  at  any  shop  in  the 
long  street  of  the  town,  would  have  been  as  promptly  filled  as 
if  her  father,  instead  of  a  fugitive,  had  been  at  that  moment  at 
the  mine  engaged  in  hoisting  out  tons  of  silver  ore  each  day. 
The  whole  town  seemed  impressed  with  the  sad  death  of  Mrs. 
Graham,  and  the  sorrow  of  the  lonely  daughter.  The  team 
sters  ceased  cracking  their  whips,  as  with  vast  loads  of  ore  they 
turned  around  the  corner  at  the  hotel  to  go  down  the  hills  to 
wards  the  noisy  quartz  mills,  at  the  foot  of  the  sugar  loaf.  All 
the  day  little  knots  of  men,  some  in  black  coats,  and  more  in 
slouched  hats,  rough  miners,  shirts  and  boots  outside  their 
trousers,  stood  about  the  street  in  front  of  the  American  Eagle, 
discussing  the  melancholy  event.  They  were  men  who  had 
known  the  history  of  Mr.  Graham  ;  his  hopes,  his  losses,  and  his 
disappointments,  from  the  early  day  down  to  the  sad  moment 
when  a  remorseless  fate  had  driven  him  to  the  wall,  and  his 
heart-broken  wife  into  the  grave.  And,  as  they  talked  the  mat 
ter  over  with  bated  breath  and  voice  of  sympathy  for  the  poor 
runaway  gentleman,  they  often  raised  their  eyes  to  gaze  upon 
the  window  over  the  balcony,  now  closely  drawn,  that  showed 
the  spot  where  still  remained  so  much  of  misfortune's  cruel 
work.  But  few  in  the  town  could  do  more  than  look,  and  wish, 
and  regret ;  for  the  family  had  been  kept  too  closely  at  home 
since  their  arrival,  by  illness  and  sorrow,  to  have  made  many  ac 
quaintances.  So  Helen  was  allowed  to  endure  her  grief  alone, 
as  no  doubt  she  preferred  to  endure  it,  without  great  flow  of  ex 
pressed  commiseration  or  condolence  from  others.  All  the 
assistance  necessary  was  freely  given  by  the  kind  landlord  and 
his  wife,  full  of  woman's  generous  and  loving  sympathy  with 
all  in  affliction.  The  body  of  the  dead  lady  was  laid  by  the 
window  in  the  little  parlor  of  No.  1 6,  in  the  very  spot  where  so 
often  at  nightfall  she  had  taken  her  place  to  look  anxiously 
down  the  busy  street  for  her  darling  husband,  as,  each  time 
more  dejected,  he  wended  his  weary  way  from  the  mine  to  his 
home  ;  and  here  sat  the  golden-haired  baby,  to  whom  she  had 
sung  the  lullaby,  that  hushed  not  the  infant,  but  herself,  to  sleep, 
still  watching  sorrowfully  by  the  dead  mother,  whose  nurse  she 
had  been.  Charley  Hunter  had  a  seat  in  the  hall  outside  the 
door,  where,  still  faithful,  he  sat,  ready  and  willing  to  perform 
whatever  was  required  of  him  under  the  contract  of  employ 
ment  with  Greathouse.  Jack  Gowdy  was  to  have  gone  away 
with  his  coach  over  the  mountain  on  Monday  morning,  but  he 


276  ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE. 

did  not  do  so.  He  heard  of  what  had  happened  in  No.  16,  and 
said  at  once,  "  I  don't  know  of  any  good  I  can  do  the  young 
lady  by  staying  here,  but  I  am  sure  I  can  do  her  none  by  going 
away.  So  I  won't  go."  He  put  an  assistant  on  the  box  of  his 
coach,  and  sent  it  off  on  the  chances,  as  he  called  them,  of  his 
being  wanted.  He  did  not  presume  to  enter  the  apartments  to 
ask  of  the  lady  what  service  he  could  be,  but  came  at  intervals 
of  ten  minutes  noiselessly  along  the  hall,  and  inquired  of  Char 
ley  Hunter  how  things  went  on.  Receiving  the  sentinel's 
report,  he  went  away  again  to  the  street  in  front  of  the  house, 
and  stood  about  for  ten  minutes  more,  and  repeated  his  call. 
While  making  his  rounds,  he  received,  and  declined  many  invi 
tations  to  leave  his  post  and  cross  the  street  for  refreshments 
of  various  sorts.  The  curious  public  understood  that  Jack  had 
some  sort  of  knowledge  beyond  that  generally  possessed,  as  to 
the  condition  of  affairs  in  the  house  of  sorrow ;  and  without 
openly  asking  him  to  reveal  all  that  he  knew,  they  were  profuse 
in  their  invitations  to  drink,  upon  pretexts  as  various  as  were 
the  mixtures  offered  to  him.  He  was  pressed  to  take  a  cock 
tail  to  remove  certain  cobwebs  that  were  supposed  in  some 
manner  to  have  fixed  themselves  in  his  throat.  Brandy- smash 
ers,  hot  brandys,  brandy  and  ice,  and  brandy  and  water  were 
recommended  and  offered  in  view  of  his  evident  coldness ;  as 
were  whiskey  sour,  whiskey  juleps,  whiskey  cobblers,  Bourbon 
whiskey,  Irish  whiskey,  and  Scotch  whiskey,  owing  to  the  flushed 
appearance  produced  by  the  warm  weather.  Reasons  of  the 
most  conclusive  character  were  produced  for  his  partaking  of 
gin  cocktails,  gin  slings,  gin  punches,  gin  and  bitters,  and  gin 
straight ;  and  no  less  ingenious  reasons  were  brought  into  ser 
vice  to  show  the  benefit  to  be  derived  from  drinking  various 
preparations  of  rum,  of  absynth,  of  ale,  of  cider,  and  wine. 
But  Jack  turned  a  deaf  ear  alike  to  all  these  tempting  offers ; 
he  was  on  duty,  and  at  such  times  had  always  found  that  his 
"fine  cut"  was  the  only  solace  that  could  be  safely  indulged  in; 
so  he  declined  their  invitations  to  drink.  But,  remembering  the 
courtesy  which  should  always  characterize  the  intercourse  of 
gentlemen,  and  not  to  appear  rude  or  unmannerly,  he  affably 
asked,  and  accepted  from  them  tobacco,  and  politely  renewed 
his  stock  from  the  papers  of  each.  Doctor  Brierly's  kindness 
did  not  cease  with  the  life  of  his  patient,  but  extended  to  the 
duties  due  to  the  dead,  as  well  'as  to  the  stricken  orphan  left 
amongst  the  living.  He  consulted  with  his  friends,  and  a  spot 
was  selected  for  the  grave,  and  all  decent  preparations  were 
made.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Bowring,  who  had  known  the  lady 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  277 

in  life,  was  called  in  to  administer  the  final  service  for  the  dead. 
Mrs.  Fogg  had  not  been  without  assistamce  in  her  work  of 
Christian  charity,  for  other  ladies  there  were  in  the  town,  who 
came  forward,  not  officiously,  but  with  gentle  decorum,  to  lend 
the  hand  of  kindness  and  woman  delicacy,  to  the  last  touching 
duty  to  the  dead.  Though  Helen  had  been  so  much  alone 
these  two  days  that  she  felt  like  one  in  a  wilderness,  yet  when 
they  set  forth  upon  the  journey  from  the  little  parlor  of  No.  16, 
to  the  still  narrower  home  in  the  cold  side  of  Mount  Davidson, 
to  which  her  mother  was  to  be  removed,  she  was  startled  to 
find  that  they  were  followed  by  a  vast  concourse  of  people  of 
all  classes,  marching  in  solemn  procession.  Even  the  poor 
miners  who  spent  half  their  lives  in  the  dark  galleries  and  tun 
nels  below  ground,  had,  in  remembrance  of  the  kindness  of  Mr. 
Graham,  so  often  shown  to  them,  found  their  way  to  the  sur 
face,  to  pay  their  honest  tribute  of  respect  to  his  dead  wife,  and 
sympathy  for  the  sorrowing  daughter.  The  last  resting-place 
of  the  gentle  woman  was  not  one  that  would  have  been  chosen 
by  herself.  She  would  have  been  laid  beneath  the  green  grass, 
in  some  secluded  spot  beside  a  purling  brook  ;  she  would  have 
had  a  spreading  tree  to  shade  her  grave,  where  birds  might  sit 
and  chirp,  and  twitter,  keeping  time  with  the  babbling  waters. 
She  was  buried  beneath  the  sand,  and  loose  rocks,  and  volcanic 
scoria,  that  crushes  out  vegetation,  and  renders  the  sides  of 
Mount  Davidson  so  bleak  and  desolate. 

A  few  acres  of  desert  had  been  inclosed  some  months  before, 
and  set  aside  for  a  resting  place  for  the  dead,  and  hither  had 
been  brought  all  whose  hard  lot  it  had  been  to  perish  in  this  far 
off  land. 

But  in  the  early  days  of  the  little  colony,  disease  had  not 
been  so  active  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the  grim  tyrant 
as  had  been  violence,  and  crime,  and  dissipation.  The  ground 
was  dank  and  dripping  with  the  fresh  blood  of  strong  men. 

The  pure  and  gentle  mother  was  not  put  to  rest  side  by  side 
with  others  pure  and  gentle  like  herself,  but  lay  as  a  lily  that 
had  fallen  in  the  butcher's  shambles  pale  and  spotless. 

Gamblers  killed  in  quarrels  over  cards ;  assassins  themselves, 
slain  in  drunken  brawls ;  suicides,  and  robbers,  slaughtered  in 
felonious  acts,  were  to  be  the  companions  of  the  gentle  and 
pure  woman,  whose  heart  had  been  broken  by  violence  that  to 
it  was  as  deadly  as  the  bludgeon  stroke,  the  knife  thrust,  or  the 
pistol  bullet,  that  had  laid  them  low. 

The  minister  read  his  homilies  and  his  collects  for  the  dead. 
Then  they  laid  her  down  and  covered  her  with  stones  and  scoria, 


278  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

that  rattled  upon  her  coffin,  with  savage  glee,  as  if  rejoicing  in 
the  beautiful  prize  that  had  fallen  to  them.  And  then  they 
went  away  and  left  her. 

In  the  evening,  Helen  found  herself  alone  in  No.  16. 
Not  even  the  body  of  her  dead  mother  was  there  to  protect  her, 
with  its  pale  and  silent  influence.  Doctor  Brierly,  who  had 
come  home  with  her,  left  her  at  her  door,  and  went  at  once  to 
good  Mrs.  Fogg,  to  ask  her  to  come  and  sit  in  the  room  with 
the  young  lady.  But  he  met  her  in  the  hall  already  on  her  way 
thither. 

"  Oh,  I  could  not  think  of  leaving  her  alone  a  moment,  poor 
child  ! "  cried  the  kind  landlady,  "  I  am  going  directly  to  com 
fort  her,  as  well  as  I  can."  But  she  could  not  spend  all  of  her 
time  with  poor  Helen,  much  as  she  would  have  liked  to  do  it, 
but  would  be  called  away  at  almost  every  moment,  by  the 
duties  in  the  house,  and  intending  always  to  be  back  in  half  a 
minute,  but  was  detained  generally  twenty  times  as  long.  The 
young  lady,  however,  did  not  feel  the  want  of  Mrs.  Fogg's 
company  ;  she  could  only  sit  in  her  chair  and  sob,  and  this  was  a 
relief  to  her  burdened  heart.  The  idea  that  her  mother  had  died 
in  the  room,  and  had  lain  there  a  corpse  for  two  days,  did  not 
render  the  place  revolting,  or  even  gloomy,  to  Helen's  mind. 
It  had  been  her  loving  mother  who  had  passed  away  in  the 
apartments,  and  nothing  relating  to  that  gentle  spirit  could 
inspire  gloom  or  dread  in  the  daughter.  But  it  was  the  sense 
of  loneliness  and  desolation  that  crowded  upon  and  overwhelmed 
the  orphan.  Not  only  had  her  poor  mother  died  heart-broken, 
but  her  father  was  a  fugitive,  at  the  least.  What  worse  state 
he  might  be  in  she  scarcely  dared  to  contemplate.  The  last 
words  of  her  mother,  the  singular  charge  she  had  impressed 
upon  her  daughter,  when  apparently  in  the  fren/y  of  dissolu 
tion,  to  fail  not  to  go  to  the  mine  and  relieve  her  father,  had 
made  a  deep  impression  upon  Helen.  So  much  had  she 
thought  of  it,  now  that  her  mother  was  gone,  that  a  notion  that 
she  had  spoken  from  a  sort  of  preternatural  inspiration  was 
steadily  taking  possession  of  her  mind.  During  the  two  days 
the  body  had  lain  by  the  window  in  the  parlor,  awaiting  burial, 
each  time  Helen  had  looked  in  the  dead  face,  it  had  seemed  to 
have  the  same  beseeching,  anxious  expression  that  had  come 
upon  it  in  life,  when  her  mother,  in  the  dark  night  of  her  death, 
had  drawn  her  Baby  to  her  breast  and  made  her  renew  the 
pledge  not  to  forget  to  go  and  help  her  father  to  come  out  of 
the  mine.  And  as  the  cold  features  settled  and  shrunk  away 
each  hour,  the  daughter  was  sure  the  beseeching  look  grew  and 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  279 

intensified,  until  at  last  it  was  graven  upon  her  heart  that  her 
dead  mother  still  spoke  to  her,  even  in  nursery  language  and 
reminded  her  that  there  was  now  no  one  left  but  her  precious 
Baby  to  help  poor  papa  to  come  out  of  the  mine,  since 
mamma  was  gone  away.  Helen  sat  in  her  chair  alone,  invoking 
the  memory  of  her  mother,  at  times  bursting  into  fresh  fits  of 
sobbing,  as  some  new  view  of  her  grief  would  strike  her  already 
depressed  and  broken  spirit.  Mrs.  Fogg  had  been  in  the 
room  as  much  as  she  possibly  could  be ;  indeed  the  poor  woman 
thought  she  had  been  there  all  the  time,  since  the  young  lady 
had  returned  from  the  funeral,  with  only  momentary  exceptions. 
But  her  detentions  had  been  greater  in  the  affairs  of  the  house 
than  she  believed,  and  Helen  had  in  fact  been  alone,  chiefly 
throughout  the  evening.  She  had  yielded  to  her  loneliness 
and  dejection,  and  had  thrown  herself  upon  the  sofa  in  utter 
despondency,  and  lay  there  moaning  and  calling,  with  childish 
abandonment  to  sorrow,  upon  her  dear  mamma  to  pity  her 
poor  Baby,  and  come  and  take  her  away  with  her. 

While  she  lay  there  convulsively  sobbing,  as  if  her  heart 
would  melt  with  tears  and  pour  out  at  her  eyes,  she  heard,  as 
she  thought,  Mrs.  Fogg  enter  the  room  once  more  and  ap 
proach  the  sofa  upon  which  she  lay.  In  another  moment  she 
felt  a  warm  cheek  laid  against  hers,  and  felt  that  some  woman 
was  embracing  her,  and,  drawing  her  lovingly  to  her  breast,  she 
opened  her  eyes  and  looked.  It  was  Blanche  Mclver  who  had 
entered  her  room,  and,  without  speaking,  had  taken  the  suf 
ferer  to  her  heart,  and  was  drying  her  tears,  and  kissing  the 
cheek  that  she  had  thought  abandoned  by  all  the  world.  She 
could  not  speak,  but  her  dry  and  heated  eyes,  that  before 
had  seemed  to  be  burning  in  her  head,  were  instantly  cooled  by 
a  burst  of  fresh  and  limpid  tears,  that  rose  now  voluntarily 
from  a  fountain  that  had  appeared,  but  a  moment  before,  dry 
and  exhausted. 

The  sufferer  no  longer  made  any  effort  to  bear  up  under  her 
grief.  There  was  no  need  for  her  to  struggle  or  strive  to 
sustain  herself.  Her  friend,  her  sister,  had  come  to  her,  and 
now  she  was  to  be  cared  for  and  nursed  in  her  turn.  She  who 
had  been  for  weeks  bearing  upon  her  shoulders  the  burden  of  a 
load  of  care  and  sorrow  too  much  for  three  people,  under 
which  one  had  fled  and  another  had  died,  was  now  relieved ; 
the  succor  so  long  hoped  for  had  at  last  arrived.  Blanche 
had  come,  and  would  bear  her  grief  for  her,  and  the  weary  one 
could  rest.  Had  it  been  Mrs.  Fogg  that  entered  the  room, 


280  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

Helen  would  have  merely  risen  up  and  sat  erect  upon  the 
sofa,  and  at  least  made  an  effort  to  converse  and  be  calm. 
This  she  would  have  done,  because  her  hard  task  was  not  yet' 
accomplished,  —  the  journey  not  ended.  But  it  was  Blanche. 
It  was  relief.  It  was  rest.  It  was  consolation,  and  comfort, 
and  protection,  all  come  at  once,  and  at  the  moment  when  she 
had  felt  like  crying  out,  that  her  trial  was  more  than  she  could 
bear.  So  she  spoke  not,  nor  essayed  to  speak.  There  was 
no  need  for  her  to  do  so,  —  she  was  safe  ;  her  trials  were  over ; 
her  protection  secured.  So  she  lay  in  her  friend's  arms,  sob 
bing  upon  the  breast  that  had  come  so  far  to  fetch  sympathy 
and  consolation. 

"  I  came  as  soon  as  I  heard  about  it,  Baby,"  cried  Blanche. 
"  The  telegram  reached  me  at  three  o'clock,  and  I  was  on  the 
steamer  at  four.  I  have  come  all  alone,  bringing  only  my  carpet 
bag.  A  half-dozen  gentlemen  would  have  come  with  me, 
but  they  could  not  get  ready.  They  say  women  are  slow  to 
dress,  and  always  keep  people  waiting ;  but  if  I  had  waited  for 
the  gentlemen  who  promised  to  come  with  me,  I  should  not 
have  been  here  till  to-morrow  night." 

"  Oh  !  thank  you,  Blanche,"  sobbed  Helen,  finding  words  at 
last.  "  1  should  not  have  lived  that  long  without  you,  I  should 
have  died  and  gone  away  with  poor  mamma  before  that  time." 

"  Well,  I  am  here,  Baby  ! "  and  Blanche  kissed  her  friend, 
and  patted  her  cheek ;  "  and  now  you  shall  be  taken  care  of, 
and  nursed  as  tenderly  as  my  poor,  little,  darling  Baby  should 
be  nursed.  Your  troubles  will  soon  be  over." 

"Why,  I  have  come  up  to  take  you  away  with  me,  Baby," 
cried  Blanche. 

Helen  shook  her  head.  "  That  is  impossible,  dear  Blanche  ;  I 
cannot  leave  this  spot  till  I  have  fulfilled  my  solemn  obligation 
to  my  mamma  that  is  in  the  grave.  It  may  have  been  and 
probably  was  a  fancy  of  hers,  —  a  mere  illusion  originating  in 
her  poor  disordered  brain,  as  she  lay  here  day  after  day  dying 
of  a  broken  heart,  produced  by  the  absence  of  my  father,  whom 
she  loved  better  than  life  itself.  But,  whatever  it  may  have 
been,  dear  Blanche,  with  my  head  upon  her  breast  as  she  nursed 
me  when  a  baby,  she  asked  me  for  that  promise,  and  when  I 
had  given  it,  she  sang  the  cradle-song  by  which  she  has  lulled 
me  to  sleep  a  thousand  times,  not  even  forgetting  to  say  with 
me  '  Our  Father,'  and  then  kissed  me  in  gratitude  and  died.  I 
am  a  poor,  weak  girl,  scarcely  knowing  whither  to.  turn  to  for 
help  or  for  advice ;  but  I  will  stay  here  in  Virginia,  if  I  am 


ROBERT   GREATIIOUSE.  281 

obliged  to  work  in  this  Hotel  as  a  domestic  servant  for  m}  food, 
I  will  do  anything  that  is  not  wicked ;  but  I  will  discharge  my 
promise  to  my  poor  mother  before  I  leave  it.  If  I  die  in  the 
effort  they  shall  lay  me  by  her  side ;  for  not  otherwise  would  I 
feel  that  I  could  sleep  next  to  my  darling  mother  even  in  the 
grave."  This  said,  she  fell  sobbing,  quite  overcome  upon  the 
breast  of  her  friend. 

"  You  shall  do  as  you  wish,  Baby,"  cried  Blanche,  "  and  you 
shall  not  work  as  a  servant  in  doing  it  either.  I  came  to  fetch 
you  away,  it  is  true,  but  such  being  your  feelings  whether  they 
are  correct  or  not,  it  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  urge  you  to  lay 
them  aside.  I  shall  not  do  so,  but  will  rather  encourage  you  to 
persevere.  I  cannot  ^  say  that  your  mother  was  right  in  her 
notion,  for  I  do  not  think  so.  But  strange  things  have  occurred 
in  this  wicked  world,  and  they  may  have  in  this  instance.  In 
any  case  you  would  not  be  happy  if  you  did  not  satisfy  your 
self  about  the  matter  by  actual  demonstration.  You  shall  stay 
here,  Helen,  as  long  as  you  wish.  I  cannot  be  with  you  all  of  the 
time,  but  I  will  stay  as  long  and  as  much  as  I  can,  and  as  your 
sister  I  will  stand  by  and  protect  you  to  the  last,  whether  I  am 
present  or  not." 

Helen  could  only  embrace  her  friend,  and  thank  her  with 
tears  and  blessings. 

"  Now  let  us  go  to  bed  "  ;  and  the  two  young  girls  retired  for 
the  night  to  Helen's  room,  which  they  occupied  together. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

A    WORTHY    MEMBER   OF   THE    WASHOE    BAR. 

THE  story  of  the  flight  of  Mr.  Graham  reached  Harry 
Stacey's  ears  in  the  regular  course  of  events.  Such  a  delicate 
bit  of  scandal  found  its  way  naturally  into  the  Washoe  journals, 
and  was  copied  throughout  the  country.  He  was  shocked  and 
saddened  by  the  unfortunate  termination  of  his  client's  career, 
but  was  not  very  greatly  surprised.  Mr.  Graham,  though  em- 
plowing  the  young  man  in  defending  the  suits  pending  against 


282  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

the  mine,  had  never  given  him  any  knowledge  of  his  financial 
affairs.  Harry  knew,  however,  without  being  told,  that  his  nota 
ble  ill  success  in  searching  for  the  silver  vein  must  have  long 
since  brought  the  proprietor  to  great  straits.  When  he  therefore 
heard  of  the  gentleman's  flight,  he  soon  reconciled  the  strange 
proceeding  with  probability,  as  all  others  had  done.  It  had 
been  the  resort  of  a  sensitive  nature  to  avoid  facing  a  difficulty 
that  was  no  longer  surmountable.  "He  could  not  satisfy  his 
creditors,''  thought  Harry,  "  and  he  has  not  had  the  fortitude  to 
face  them  and  tell  them  so."  Mr.  Graham's  conduct  had  placed 
Harry  in  not  only  a  delicate,  but  in  an  exceedingly  difficult 
position. 

The  claim  of  the  Bosh  Mining  Company,  though  utterly  with- 
\J  out  foundation  in  either  law  or  justice,  might,  by  the  defendant's 
extraordinary  absence,  become  formidable.  The  suit  had  now 
advanced  to  that  stage  where  it  required  the  utmost  watchful 
ness.  The  demurrers  and  dilatory  motions  had  been  disposed 
of,  and  there  remained  nothing  save  the  issues  of  fact.  In 
short,  the  suit  was  ready  for  trial  and  might  be  called  at  any 
term  of  the  court.  To  make  matters  worse  a  regular  term  was 
about  to  commence,  and  it  lay  in  the  power  of  the  plaintiffs  to 
force  it  on  within  three  or  four  weeks,  should  they  deem  it  ad 
visable  to  do  so.  There  was  not  the  least  probability  that  the 
conspirators  would  willingly  come  to  trial  under  ordinary  cir 
cumstances.  But  this  last  complication  was  so  strange  that  the 
young  man  scarcely  knew  what  to  look  for.  He  very  soon  re 
solved,  however,  not  to  be  found  asleep  at  his  post.  "  I  will  do 
the  best.  I  can,"  he  thought,  "  and  act  as  if  I  expected  no  favors 
from  the  enemy." 

Mr.  Graham  being  away,  Harry  found  it  his  duty  to  commu 
nicate  with  his  superintendent,  Mr.  Bloodstone.  He  did  this 
most  reluctantly,  for  the  fact  that  that  gentleman  was  to  be  the 
future  husband  of  Helen  burnt  deeply  into  the  young  man's 
soul.  "  He  will  at  least  not  know  that  I  ever  aspired  to  her 
hand,"  thought  Harry,  "for  I  am  sure  she  has  never  told  hiir 
that  circumstance."  He  would  fain  have  avoided  the  interview 
had  it  been  possible,  but  it  was  not.  So  he  made  his  way  in 
the  direction  of  Mr.  Graham's  office,  turning  over  in  his  mind 
what  would  be  his  probable  reception.  "  If  he  Suspects  my 
feelings  toward  his  intended  wife  he  will  not  receive  me  very 
pleasantly,  but  I  cannot  help  that.  His  jealousy  must  not 
prevent  my  doing  my  duty." 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  283 

At  the  office  Harry  found-t wo  gentlemen,  one  was  Mr.  Enoch 
Bloodstone,  the  superintendent ;  the  other  was  introduced  to 
him  by  that  gentleman  as  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen,  President 
of  the  Pactolus  Mine.  The  two  gentlemen,  so  Mr.  Bloodstone 
said,  had  just  been  engaged  in  talking  over  the  unfortunate 
turn  of  fate  that  had  befallen  their  mutual  friend,  Mr.  Graham, 
and  his  amiable  family.  They  both  expressed  their  sorrow  at 
what  had  occurred,  and  with  great  difficulty  could  restrain  their 
tears  in  speaking  of  it.  In  truth  the  two  gentlemen,  if  their  own 
stories  could  be  believed,  had  more  than  once  found  themselves 
involuntarily  weeping  when  the  sad  subject  had  been  suggested 
to  their  sympathetic  minds. 

Harry  was  glad  to  find  that  the  unfortunate  family  still  had  a 
place  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  had  known  them.  His  business 
in  the  Territory  was  in  behalf  of  Mr.  Graham's  interests,  and  he 
would  need  all  the  assistance  that  gentleman's  friends  and  well- 
wishers  could  extend  to  him. 

Mr.  Bloodstone  inquired  of  him  the  nature  of  his  business. 

He  had  come  to  defend  the  title  of  Mr.  Graham  to  the  mine 
against  the  claim  of  the  Bosh  Company. 

"  Indeed,"  cried  the  superintendent,  "  is  that  suit  to  be 
brought  to  trial  ?  I  thought  it  was  to  be  dismissed  on  motion 
of  the  plaintiffs." 

"  It  has  not  been  dismissed,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  and  may  be 
brought  to  trial  at  the  term  of  court  now  almost  upon  us." 

Mr.  Withergreen  inquired  the  nature  of  the  suit. 

Harry  explained  it  to  him.  And  when  he  had  finished  Mr. 
Withergreen  said,  — 

"  There  is  just  such  another  pending  against  my  mine,  the 
Pactolus  ;  but  I  do  not  pay  any  attention  to  it,  sir.  They  dare 
not  bring  it  on." 

"  That  may  be,  Mr.  Withergreen.  because  you  are  prepared 
to  meet  the  trial  whenever  it  shall  come.  I  only  fear  their 
taking  advantage  of  our  unfortunate  position,  and  forcing  it  on 
when  we  are  not  ready." 

Both  Mr.  Withergreen  and  the  superintendent  shrugged  their 
shoulders  with  contempt. 

"Impossible,"  cried  the  President  of  the  Pactolus.  "Why 
should  they  want  the  mine  ?  It  will  be  time  enough  for  them 
to  stir  when  you  find  the  vein.  Nobody  wants  a  mine  that  is 
filled  with  water  at  the  bottom  and  choke-damps  at  the  top,  so 
that  they  could  not  get  into  it  if  they  tried.  My  word  for  it, 


284  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

sir,  they  don't  intend  to  throw  any  money  down  Mr.  Graham's 
shaft.  Too  much  has  gone  down  there  already." 

This  was  also  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Bloodstone. 

"  Still,"  cried  Harry,  "  Mr.  Graham's  friends  owe  it  to  that 
gentleman  not  to  permit  his  rights  to  be  jeopardized  by  any  de 
fault  of  theirs." 

Here  Mr.  Bloodstone  showed  his  teeth.  He  thought  that 
some  other  people  had  a  sufficient  interest  in  the  mine  not  to 
allow  it  to  be  lost,  besides  Mr.  Graham.  He,  Mr.  Bloodstone, 
had  pitched  a  good  many  thousands  of  very  hard  dollars  down 
that  hole,  and  he  did  not  intend  to  let  anybody  get  in  there  and 
pick  them  up  if  he  could  help  it. 

u  In  that  you  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Bloodstone,"  said  Harry, 
affecting  not  to  see  the  changed  manner.  "  But  to  successfully 
defend  the  most  contemptible  suit  you  must  be  prepared. 
Have  you  taken  any  steps  to  protect  your  interests,  sir  ?  have 
you  employed  counsel  ?  " 

Mr.  Bloodstone  had  not,  he  answered  doggedly.  He  had 
never  seen  the  necessity  of  it,  and  did  not  think  there  was  any 
need  of  acting  in  a  hurry.  He  would  now  go  to  his  lawyer, 
however,  he  said,  and  attend  to  the  business. 

Harry  thanked  him. 

As  the  interests  of  Mr.  Bloodstone  and  Mr.  Graham  towards 
the  Bosh  Company's  claim  were  identical,  he  should  be  most 
happy  to  co-operate  with  Mr.  Bloodstone's  counsel. 

"  Will  you  arrange  for  an  interview  with  him  as  soon  as  pos 
sible  ?  For  my  sole  business  in  the  Territory  is  to  attend  to 
this  matter." 

Mr.  Bloodstone  promised  to  do  so  at  once,  and  Harry  bade 
the  gentleman  "good  morning,"  and  returned  to  the  American 
Eagle  Hotel. 

The  young  man  found  himself,  upon  reflection,  more  sorely 
perplexed  than  before.  The  interview  had  not  been  at  all  to 
his  satisfaction.  The  whole  manner  of  the  man  had  been  to 
him  suggestive  of  deception  and  concealment ;  yet  he  could 
conceive  of  no  cause  for  any  such  conduct. 

"  If  he  had  been  less  polite,"  thought  Harry,  "I  might  have 
put  down  his  conduct  to  his  dislike  for  me.  I  might  have  sus 
pected  that  Helen  had  confided  to  him  my  secret.  But  no, 
that  is  impossible.  She  never  would  have  done  it ;  and,  be 
sides,  an  honest  man,  only  jealous,  would  have  simply  turned 
me  out  of  the  door  and  refused  to  talk  with  me  about  the 
business.  He  would  not  have  condescended  to  cheat  me, 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  285 

to  deceive,  or  throw  me  off  my  guard.  He  would  have  said, '  1 
have  my  own  counsel,  and  you  can  go  about  your  business.' 
He  handled  me  altogether  too  gingerly,"  thought  Harry,  "  he 
does  not  hate  me,  he  only  fears  me.  Why  should  he  fear  me  ? 
I  can't  conceive,  but  we  will  wait  and  see." 

The  young  lawyer  was  gradually  getting  sharpened  up  to  the 
edge  necessary  to  cut  his  way  through  the  frauds  of  a  corrupt 
community  ;  but  he  had  not  got  to  the  ground  of  fathoming  all 
the  depths  to  which  human  depravity  can  descend.  He  could 
not  conceive  of  Mr  Bloodstone's  discovery  and  concealment  of 
the  vein  in  the  mine  of  his  employer,  nor  of  the  monstrous  con 
sequences  that  had  been  formed  to  appropriate  it.  The  com 
plicity  of  Mr.  Withergreen  in  the  fraud,  if  suggested,  would 
have  been  at  once  dismissed  to  its  proper  place  in  the  drawer 
of  some  writer  of  sensational  romances. 

Again,  the  young  man,  from  his  newness  to  the  country,  was 
ignorant  of  much  that  was  going  on  about  him.  He  did  not 
even  know  that  such  a  mine  as  the  Pactolus  existed ;  and,  es 
pecially,  he  did  not  dream  that  the  stock  was  at  that  moment 
selling  in  the  market  readily  at  two  thousand  five  hundred  dol 
lars  a  share,  a  sum  which,  to  be  justified,  would  make  the  mine 
the  most  valuable  one  upon  the  entire  Comstock  Lode.  Had 
he  even  been  told  of  it,  he  could  never  have  suspected  the 
cause  that  had  operated  to  put  it  up  to  such  a  fabulous 
price. 

He  could  not  have  known,  what  was  the  truth,  that  Wither 
green  and  Bloodstone,  in  despair  of  depressing  the  stock  by 
their  "bearing"  operations,  had,  more  than  a  month  before, 
gone  into  the  market  and  invested  their  entire  fortunes  in  the 
shares  of  the  Pactolus,  in  the  vain  hope  of  obtaining  a  con 
trolling  interest,  at  any  price,  and  had  failed  signally. 

CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

HELEN    GRAHAM    CONSULTS    A    LAWYER. 

IN  the  evening  Harry  received  a  message  from  Miss  Graham. 
It  was  brought  by  Charley  Hunter.  He  had  been  sitting  in 
his  room  a  half-hour  trying  to  determine  the  question  in  his  own 
mind,  whether  he  ought  to  call  upon  that  lady  again  without  an 
express  command  to  that  effect.  At  the  moment  when  he  had 
persuaded  himself  that  he  ought  to  do  so  in  spite  of  the  circum 
stance  that  she  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Bloodstone, 
the  door  opened  and  Charley  entered. 


286  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

Miss  Graham  wished  to  see  Mr.  Stacey  at  No.  16,  at  as  early 
a  moment  as  would  be  convenient  for  him  to  call. 

Harry  thanked  the  boy,  and  said  he  would  proceed  immedi 
ately  to  Miss  Graham's  apartments. 

He  found  her  alone,  Blanche  Mclver  having  retired  with  a 
slight  indisposition,  the  effects  of  her  recent  journey  over  the 
mountains.  It  was  the  first  time  Harry  had  seen  her  alone 
since  the  memorable  day  when  she  had  dismissed  him  in 
despair.  He  was  quite  sure  that  he  had  never  seen  her  look  so 
beautiful  as  she  was  in  her  suit  of  black.  She  asked  him, 
kindly,  to  be  seated  in  a  chair  near  to  where  she  sat. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Stacey,"  she  said  in  a  sad  tone, 
"  to  consult  you,  professionally,  upon  a  matter  that  weighs  heav 
ily  upon  me." 

Harry  assumed  an  attentive  attitude,  and  begged  her  to  pro 
ceed. 

"The  affair  is  a  most  delicate  one,"  she  said,  "in  view  of  all 
the  circumstances,  and  I  communicate  it  to  you,  in  confidence, 
the  more  readily  as  you  already  know  more  of  my  situation 
than  any  one  that  I  have  now  about  me.  You  are  aware,  Mr. 
Stacey,"  and  here  her  voice  sank  even  lower  than  before,  "that 
I  have  promised  to  marry  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone." 

Harry  acknowledged  the  fact  by  an  inclination  of  the  head. 

"  I  have  told  no  one  now  living  of  the  circumstance,  except 
yourself  and  my  father." 

Harry  assured  her  that  she  could  depend  upon  his  discretion 
in  all  things,  and  she  continued,  — 

"  My  father's  disappearance  was  most  extraordinary  and  un 
accountable.  He  went  "out  of  the  house  on  Sunday  after 
noon  to  go,  as  he  said,  to  the  mine.  We  only  know,  as  a  mat 
ter  of  certainty,  that  he  never  returned.  We  heard  that  he  had 
fled  from  the  country  to  avoid  his  embarrassments.  Had  that 
been  the  fact,  we  ought,  reasonably,  to  have  received  letters 
from  him  in  no  great  length  of  time  afterwards.  But  he  has 
never  written  to  us,  —  not  once.  The  anxiety  and  uncertainty 
about  his  fate  was  the  immediate  cause  of  my  poor  mother's 
death." 

Here  the  lady's  firmness  gave  way  and  she  sobbed  in  her 
handkerchief  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on,  but  in  a  broker 
voice. 

"Before  she  died,"  —  here  she  looked  hard  at  Harry,  as  if  to 
watch  the  effect  of  her  words  upon  him,  —  "  especially  the  night 
of  her  death,  she  either  knew  or  fancied  that  she  knew,  in  some 


ROBERT   GREATIIOUSE.  287 

mysterious  manner,  where  my  father  was.  And,  acting  upon 
that  knowledge,  or  illusion,  as  the  case  may  have  been,  she 
exacted  from  me  a  pledge,  —  more,  Mr.  Stacey,  she  laid  upon 
me,  her  daughter,  a  solemn  duty  not  to  rest  till  I  had  gone  to 
him  and  brought  him  home,  —  released  him,  indeed,  from  the 
place  where  she  believed  or  imagined  him  to  be  kept." 

Harry  had  listened  to  each  word  with  strict  attention. 

"  Then  your  mother  believed,  or  knew,  as  you  say,  that  your 
father  was  detained,  unwillingly ;  that  he  was  held  under  duress 
of  some  sort  ?  " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Stacey,  that  was  precisely  her  notion,  and  she  has 
put  such  a  charge  upon  me  that  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  do  as  she 
wished  me  at  all  hazards.  I  have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Stacey,  not 
to  consult  you  about  the  reason  of  my  mother's  whim,  its  value, 
or  authority  with  prudent  people ;  not  to  ask  you  whether  I 
ought  to  make  an  effort  to  perform  my  mother's  dying  request, 
for  upon  that  I  wish  no  advice.  My  mind  is  clear.  I  shall  do 
all  that  in  a  feeble  woman  lies  to  redeem  my  promise  made  in 
the  arms  of  my  poor  mother  before  she  died.  I  have  sent  for 
you,  Mr.  Stacey,  as  an  honest  and  loyal  gentleman,  a  friend  of 
my  dead  mother  and  my  father,  and  I  trust  of  myself,  to  consult 
with  you  upon  the  method  to  be  pursued  in  following  my 
mother's  wishes.  I  wish  to  ask  you  how  I  am  to  do  it." 

"  I  understand  you  fully,  Miss  Graham.  Your  mother,  on 
her  dying  bed,  fancied  that  your  father  was  somewhere  in  deten 
tion  against  his  will.  Having  no  one  else  about  her  at  the 
moment  she  laid  upon  you  the  obligation  of  his  rescue.  She 
being  dead,  that  pledge  binds  your  conscience,  if  it  does  not 
really  satisfy  your  reason.  But,  having  resolved  to  do  as  you 
have  been  enjoined  to  do,  you  wish  only  to  have  the  means 
pointed  out,  unaccompanied  by  any  reasons  or  arguments  tend 
ing  to  show  any  supposed  fallacy  in  your  mother's  notions." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Stacey,  that  is  precisely  what  I  wished  to  say." 

Harry  reflected  a  moment.  "Why  does  she  not  go  to  Blood 
stone  ?  "  he  thought ;  then  he  said  in  an  earnest  and  kindly  tone, — 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  Miss  Graham.  Where  did  your 
mother  tell  you  to  search  for  your  father?" 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  still  in  doubt  whether  she  could  com 
municate  to  him  the  fantastic  notions  of  her  poor  mother,  then 
she  answered,  — 

"  Down  in  his  own  mine,  Mr.  Stacey." 

Harry  started,  and  looked  for  a  moment  as  if  he  doubted  the 
evidence  of  his  senses. 


288  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

y       "  In  the  Graham  mine  ! "  he  said,  slowly. 

"  In  the  Graham  mine,  Mr.  Stacey." 

"Did  she  fancy  —  did  she  understand,  I  should  say,  —  Miss 
Graham,  that  he  was  still  living,  or  that  he  had  perished  in 
the  mine,  and  that  only  his  body  was  there  ?" 

"  She  understood  that  he  was  then  in  the  mine,  and  living." 

"Was. your  mother  aware  of  the  mephitic  gases  that  had  so 
long  filled  the  mine  ?" 

But  seeing  her  look  at  him  in  a  reproachful  manner,  he  remem 
bered  his  promise  and  apologized. 

"I  forgot  myself,  Miss  Graham  ;  I  promised  not  to  offer  any 
obstruction  to  your  course.  I  will  try  not  to  offend  again. 
Is  our  discussion  to  be  restricted  with  respect  to  the  possible 
reasons  for  his  detention  in  the  mine,  and,  especially,  are  we  free 
to  discuss  who  it  may  be  who  holds  your  father  in  this  unlawful 
imprisonment  ?" 

"I  am  quite  incapable,  Mr.  Stacey,  of  throwing  any  light 
upon  these  questions.  If  he  is  detained  there  as  my  mother 
fancied  him  to  be,  I  know  not  why.  She  gave  me  no  intima 
tion  upon  that  point.  As  for  the  persons  who  detained  him,  she 
said  but  little.  She  thought  he  was  kept  by  an  individual  whom 
she  designated  as  'that  man.'  She  gave  no  other  hint." 

"  Have  you  any  notion,  Miss  Graham,  who  was  meant  by 
your  mother,  when  she  spoke  of  'that  man'  ?" 

Helen  hesitated. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  have  reason  to  think  that  I  know  who 
was  in  my  mother's  mind." 

"Would  you  object  to  telling  me  that  much?" 

"  Is  it  necessary,  Mr.  Stacey?  for  I  will  say  this,  that  I  throw 
myself  wholly  upon  your  generosity.  I  will  tell  anything  that 
you  think  is  necessary  or  even  beneficial  in  the  matter." 

"It  is  true,  Miss  Graham,  that  I  might  presume  without  being 
told,  that  if  your  father  was  detained  in  the  mine,  that  his  im 
prisonment  would  naturally  be  the  work  of  the  one  in  authority 
there.  Yet  it  would,  perhaps,  not  be  too  much  to  ask  of  you 
who  you  understand  to  be  the  wrong-doer  in  the  case.  But  in 
asking  the  question,  I  will  say  to  you  that  I  pledge  whatevei 
honor  there  is  in  my  heart  not  to  divulge,  unnecessarily,  or  to 
use,  otherwise  than  in  the  investigation,  any  information  you 
may  give  me." 

"  1  am  content,  Mr.  Stacey.  The  person  referred  to  by  my 
mother  was  Mr.  Bloodstone." 

Observing  that  Harry  remained  silent,  she  continued,  — 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


289 


"You  are  not  to  understand  that  because  I  give  the  name  of 
the  gentleman  to  whom  I  have  promised  my  hand  in  marriage, 
that  I  know  of  any  special  motives  that  he  may  have  for  my 
father's  detention,  or  that  I  have  any  reasons  beyond  my 
mother's  declaration  for  thinking  him  guilty.  I  have  no  fixed 
belief  in  the  subject.  I  am  acting  upon  no  conviction,  no 
opinion.  I  have  promised  my  mother  to  do  a  certain  act,  and 
if  it  is  in  my  power,  if  my  life  shall  be  spared  to  me,  I  will  do  it. 
Can  you  assist  me,  Mr.  Stacey  ?  " 

Harry  did  not  answer  her  question  directly.     He  said,  — 

"  I  suppose,  Miss  Graham,  that  your  pledge  would  be 
redeemed  by  a  thorough  and  careful  examination  of  the  mine 
made  by  competent  persons,  though  your  father  was  not  found 
to  be  detained  there." 

"1  cannot  undertake  now  to  say  what  I  would  consider  a  per 
formance  of  my  promise,  Mr.  Stacey.  I  prefer  not  to  lay  down 
any  special  boundary  within  which  I  am  to  act.  I  wish  to  do 
my  duty ;  but  I  admit  that  the  limit  of  that  duty  has  a  special 
standard  within  my  own  conscience.  The  assurance  of  no  liv 
ing  creature  that  I  had  done  all,  would  satisfy  me,  unless  my 
own  heart  told  me  also  that  I  exhausted  all  the  means  within 
my  reach.  I  wish  to  go  on,  leaving  my  own  judgment  unin 
fluenced  by  others  to  dictate  to  me  how  perfect  has  been  the 
search,  how  faithful  my  efforts.  I  would  rather  you  would 
leave  that  wholly  to  myself,  as  you  have  already  promised  to 
do,  with  respect  to  the  reason  for  my  attempting  to  obey  the 
last  wishes  of  my  mother." 

"  I  am  willing  to  do  so,  Miss  Graham ;  your  father  has 
strong  claims  upon  me  for  the  confidence  he  placed  in  me 
when  here.  Your  mother's  wishes  are  to  me  like  the  wishes 
of  my  own  mother  ;  for  she  certainly  took  an  interest  in  me, 
that  would  have  been  most  gratifying,  if  I  had  been  her  son.  I 
am  sure  I  loved  her  as  a  mother.  I  will  do  the  best  I  can, 
Miss  Graham ;  I  know  of  no  plan  except  the  legal  one  of  pro 
ceeding  by  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus.  I  will,  however,  before 
acting,  make  an  attempt  to  visit  the  mine,  by  ordinary  means. 
Not  that  I  consider  that  anything  will  be  gained  by  it,  for  it  is 
quite  improbable  that  such  an  attempt  will  result  otherwise 
than  in  failure.  It  is  said  that  the  mine  is  filled  with  gases  de 
structive  to  human  life.  If  this  story  be  true,  we  will  be  kept 
out  of  the  mine  by  natural  causes.  If  it  be  false,  then  the  men 
who  have  given  currency  to  the  story,  are  interested  in  keeping 
away  any  visitors,  and  will  not  hesitate  to  do  so  against  any 


290  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

ordinary  influences.  In  the  end,  therefore,  we  shall  be  obliged 
to  invoke  the  power  of  the  law.  In  such  case,  the  names  of 
the  parties  whom  we  believe,  or  imagine,  to  be  doing  the  un 
lawful  act,  must  necessarily  be  disclosed,  and  the  affair  made 
public.  Are  you  willing  to  submit  to  this  scandal,  Miss  Gra 
ham?" 

"  I  am,  if  it  be   necessary  to  do  so,  in  order  to  obey  my 

v     mother's  commands,"  she  answered,  in  a  steady  voice.     "I  am 

willing  to  do  anything,  to  submit  to  anything,  that  lies  in  the 

line  of  the  performance  of  what  I  consider  a  duty.     Beyond 

that,  I  do  not  suppose  you  will  ask  me  to  go." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  shall  try  not  to  do  so." 

"The  very  nature  of  my  action,"  she  continued,  "is  based 
upon  the  possibility  that  my  future  husband  has  been  guilty  of 
a  crime.  Such  being  the  fact,  it  would  be  idle  to  take  him  into 
the  secret  of  my  intentions.  If  he  prove  innocent,  I  shall  have 
done  him  a  wrong  for  which  I  will  gladly  make  any  reparation 
in  my  power.  I  have  thought  of  all  this.  I  understand  the 
apparent  absurdity  of  it  all.  I  have  a  notion  how  it  must  seem 
to  you  ;  to  men,  judged  by  the  standard  of  men's  reason,  and 
understanding ;  how  it  appears  when  viewed  in  this  light.  I 
have  discarded  reason  entirely  in  the  matter,  and  am  follow 
ing  an  impulse,  a  blind  impulse,  if  you  please  to  so  call  it,  but 
one  as  strong  as  any  strength  so  feeble  a  woman  as  I  am  can 
possess.  I  would  prefer  to  obey  my  mother  without  offending 
any  one,  without  wounding  the  feelings  of  any  one,  especially 
a  man  who  holds  my  solemn  promise  to  become  his  wife ;  but, 
if  I  am  to  live  longer  upon  this  earth,  I  must  not  forget  the 
dying  words  of  my  broken-hearted  mother." 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  say  another  word  to  me,  concerning 
your  motives,  Miss  Graham,"  said  Harry,  with  a  burst  of  en 
thusiasm  that  flashed  in  his  eyes,  and  illuminated  his  counte 
nance,  "I  understand  you,  and  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  aid 
you.  Do  not  doubt  my  zeal ;  depend  fully  upon  my  discre 
tion.  I  will  set  about  the  work  this  very  moment." 

Helen  could  only  thank  him  by  a  look.  She  did  not  dare  to 
trust  herself  with  words,  for  her  tears  were  already  too  near  the 
surface  to  permit  of  any  experiments  in  language. 

"Good-night,"  said  Harry,  "I  do  not  know  what  success  I 
may  have  in  invoking  the  law  in  aid  of  right  in  Washoe ;  but  if" 
I  fail,  it  shall  not  be  for  lack  of  zeal  in  the  cause." 

"  Good-night,"  said  the  lady,  closing  the  door  upon  him. 
Then  turning,  she  threw  herself  upon  her  knees,  and,  with 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  291 

clasped  hands,  asked  her  heavenly  Father  to  "  aid  in  the  work 
so  generously  commenced." 

Harry  proceeded  immediately  to  his  room,  and  began,  with 
out  hesitation,  to  draw  the  papers  necessary  to  procure  the 
writ  of  habeas  corpus.  "  I  may  not  be  required  to  use  it,"  he 
thought,  "  but  I  will  complete  them  to-night,  because,  at  this 
hour,  I  can  do  nothing  else.  To-morrow  I  may  visit  the  mine, 
possibly,  by  the  consent  of  Bloodstone.  There  are  a  hundred 
things  I  may  do ;  but,  to-night,  this  alone  can  be  done."  And 
so  he  plunged  his  pen  into  the  ink,  and  then  wrote  off  sheet  after 
sheet  of  paper,  and  laid  them  upon  the  floor  at  his  side.  Be 
fore  he  retired  to  bed  he  had  prepared  all  the  forms  required 
to  invoke  in  the  cause  of  Mr.  Graham  the  processes  of  the  law 
for  asserting  the  right  of  personal  liberty. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

CONSCIENCE  AN  OBSTACLE  TO  JUSTICE. 

HARRY  STAGEY  was  up  at  an  early  hour  the  following  morn 
ing.  Before  any  decided  line  of  conduct  could  be  entered 
upon,  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  make  a  general  survey  of  the 
field  in  which  he  was  to  operate.  By  ten  o'clock  he  had  ascer 
tained  all  that  could  be  known  by  the  outside  world,  with  re 
spect  to  the  condition  of  the  Graham  mine.  As  Mr.  Graham's 
attorney,  preparing  for  the  trial  of  the  suit  pending  against  the 
mine,  it  was  only  natural  and  proper  for  him  to  visit  the  prem 
ises,  and  to  examine  carefully  the  disputed  possessions.  Ar 
riving  at  the  hoisting  works  which  covered  the  mouth  of  the 
shaft,  he  knocked  at  the  door,  and  found  it  locked  on  the  in 
side.  This  was  not  a  remarkable  circumstance.  The  mine 
was  not  being  worked,  and  the  hour-was  early  in  the  morning. 
It  was  quite  natural  to  suppose  that  the  watchman  would  be 
within,  and  perhaps  still  in  bed,  so  Harry  repeated  his  clamor 
for  admission,  till  at  last  the  door  was  unlocked  from  within, 
and  partially  opened. 

"What  do  you  want,"  said  the  watchman,  in  a  gruff  voice. 


292  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"  I  would  like  to  come  in,  if  you  please,"  said  Harry. 

"But  I  don't  please,"  said  the  watchman.  "If you  could 
read,  you  might  know  that  it  was  against  the  rules.  Look  at 
that  notice,"  and  the  man  pointed  to  the  usual  warning  written 
over  the  door,  "  No  admission." 

"  But  I  have  business,"  cried  Harry,  as  the  man  was  shutting 
the  door  in  his  face. 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  watchman,  stopping  and  peering 
through  the  crack. 

"I  am  Mr.  Graham's  attorney.  I  have  come  about  a  law 
suit  against  the  mine,  and  I  want  to  examine  the  place." 

At  this,  the  door  was  opened,  and  showed  Mr.  Enoch  Blood 
stone  standing  behind  the  watchman. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Stacey,"  said  that  gentleman,  with  an 
air  of  forced  ease,  as  Harry  thought.  "  I  did  not  recognize  your 
voice  at  first.  Pray  walk  in,  sir.  We  do  not  admit  everybody 
to  the  works  now,  as  we  are  not  doing  anything;  but,  of 
course,  the  rule  does  not  apply  to  you." 

Harry  thanked  him,  and  entered  the  house.  It  was  simply  a 
large  wooden  building,  with  closely  planked  sides,  and  roof  of 
the  same  material.  In  the  centre  was  the  shaft  that  descended 
to  the  mine  ;  close  by  stood  the  steam  engine,  used  for  hoisting 
the  cage  up  and  down ;  but  this  was  cold,  as  no  work  had  been 
done  for  several  weeks ;  not  since  the  water  came  into  the 
mines. 

"Do  you  sleep  at  the  mines  ?"  asked  Harry  of  Bloodstone. 

"  Oh,  no  sir,  I  do  not ;  but  I  am  always  here  at  a  very  early 
hour  ;  I  have  been  engaged  this  morning  in  sounding  the  water 
at  the  bottom  of  the  shaft ;  I  do  this  every  day  to  see  if  it  in 
creases  in  depth." 

Though  Mr.  Bloodstone  made  this  statement,  Harry  saw  no 
line  or  other  instrument  that  could  have  been  used  for  that  pur 
pose. 

"  Do  you  go  down  the  shaft  to  make  your  soundings,  Mr. 
Bloodstone  ?  " 

"  No,  certainly  not,  Mr.  Stacey ;  were  you  not  aware  that  the 
mine  is  filled  with  damps,  so  that  no  one  can  enter  it  ? " 

Harry  had  heard  something  of  this  circumstance,  but  only  by 
vague  rumor.  And  besides,  it  might  have  been  purified  in  the 
meantime. 

"  Oh, no,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bloodstone,  " not  at  all;  it  remains  as 
bad  as  ever ;  almost  every  day  I  let  a  dog  down  in  the  cage, 
and  he  comes  up  nearly  suffocated  after  being  down  there  only 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  293 

three  minutes.  We  do  not  put  down  any  light,  for  fear  of  an  ex 
plosion,  but  the  matter  is  not  serious,  Mr.  Stacey ;  if  we  should 
ever  determine  to  resume  work  again,  a  thing  now  not  very 
probable,  we  can  soon  remove  the  bad  air.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  the  mine  should  be  abandoned,  —  and  I  am  now  only  waiting 
to  hear  from  Mr.  Graham,  to  determine  upon  that  course,  —  then, 
as  you  will  naturally  understand,  it  will  be  of  no  consequence 
what  sort  of  air  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  old  pit." 

Harry  walked  around  the  cage,  and  examined  it  as  well  as  he 
could,  Mr.  Bloodstone  following  him,  and  watching  him  inces 
santly  as  he  moved.  But  the  young  man  had  never  been  in  a 
mine  before,  and  all  was  new  to  him.  He  observed  nothing 
extraordinary  about  the  place.  Indeed,  he  was  too  ignorant  of 
such  matters  to  have  been  able  to  judge,  had  there  been  any 
thing  out  of  the  way.  But  he  thought  that  he  could  see  in  the 
conduct  of  Mr.  Bloodstone  something  like  anxiety.  His  face, 
Harry  thought,  was  unusually  pale,  even  for  that  gentleman's 
always  cadaverous  complexion.  "  Can  it  be,"  thought  the  young 
man,  "  that  my  own  suspicions  mislead  me?  The  hour  is  early, 
and  Mr.  Bloodstone  has  not  yet  broken  his  fast.  That  which  I 
take  for  the  trepidation  of  conscious  guilt,  may  be  only  the  re 
sult  of  a  casual  annoyance  upon  an  irritable  temperament ;  the 
man  is  hungry  and  I  am  detaining  him."  But  another  circum 
stance  attracted  the  notice  of  the  young  lawyer.  There  were, 
when  he  entered,  four  men  in  the  place,  besides  the  watchman 
and  the  superintendent.  Six  men  were,  at  this  early  hour,  al 
ready  for  some  purpose  in  the  hoisting  works  of  a  mine,  not  be 
ing  operated,  and  in  fact  about  to  be  abandoned,  and  the  door 
was  locked.  Had  they  all  slept  there,  it  would  not  have  ap 
peared  so  remarkable.  But  one  of  them,  at  least,  had  come 
from  his  bed  in  another  part  of  the  town.  None  of  these  men 
spoke  to  Harry,  except  the  superintendent.  But  they  all  stood 
around  him,  or  dogged  him  about,  so  the  young  man  thought,  in 
a  manner  evincing  more  than  ordinary  interest  in  his  move 
ments.  It  was  apparent  to  Harry  that  nothing  could  be  gained 
in  this  way.  If  Mr.  Graham  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  mine, 
these  men  were  his  custodians,  and  nothing  could  be  done  save 
by  some  force  that  could  wholly  overcome  them. 

"  I  called  up  to  take  a  look  about  the  place,  Mr.  Bloodstone, 
so  as  to  have  some  notion  what  it  was  like.  That  is  all,  sir.  At 
the  trial  I  shall  have  to  ask  many  questions  about  the  mine,  and 
feel  the  necessity  of  knowing  a  little  about  it." 

Mr.  Bloodstone  said,  "  that  the  desire  was  only  natural." 


294:  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"But  I  don't  think  I  have  made  much  progress,"  continued 
Harry  with  an  air  of  gaiety,  "  I  do  not  think  I  know  enough 
about  mines  yet,  to  judge  of  what  is  at  the  bottom  by  a  look  al 
the  outside." 

"  Few  men  ever  get  to  that  point  of  knowledge,  Mr.  Stacey. 
No  man  can  tell  what  is  under  ground  by  looking  at  the  sur 
face." 

"  I  suppose  not,  sir,  but  they  often  act  as  if  they  did  know." 

"Yes,"  cried  Mr.  Bloodstone  with  a  laugh,  "in  buying  'Wild 
cat'  shares,  I  suppose  you  mean." 

Harry  did  not  say  what  he  meant.  "He  might  call  again,  at 
some  more  convenient  hour,"  he. said.  "At  present,  he  felt 
that  he  was  detaining  Mr.  Bloodstone  from  his  breakfast,  and 
would  take  his  leave." 

Mr.  Bloodstone  bade  him  "  Good  morning,"  and  closed  the 
door  behind  him. 

Harry -felt  that  the  case  was  growing  more  difficult  of  solution. 
It  was  clear  the  mine  could  not  be  visited.  To  offer  to  enter 
it  was  to  face  death,  either  from  noxious  air  below  ground,  or 
by  the  hand  of  still  more  vicious  men  above. 

Whatever  the  facts  might  be,  it  was  not  intended  by  Blood 
stone  and  his  creatures  that  anybody  should  go  down  the 
mine. 

Harry  felt,  for  the  first  time,  the  extent  of  his  own  weakness, 
as  against  the  forces  opposed  to  him.  He  determined  to  seek 
assistance  and  advice.  "  I  do  not  know  the  customs  of  this 
country  sufficiently  well,  to  make  my  way  single-handed 
against  these  men." 

Before  leaving  San  Francisco  this  time,  he  had  taken  the 
precaution  to  provide  himself  with  letters  of  introduction  to 
some  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  legal  profession  in  Virginia,  who 
were  known  to  be  lawyers  of  integrity  and  proved  honor.  For 
it  must  not  be  understood,  that  in  Washoe,  all  of  the  lawyers 
were  made  up  of  men  of  the  class  who  had  caused  Harry  to 
play  the  role  of  a  returned  Union  soldier  on  the  occasion  of  his 
first  visit  to  the  Territory. 

Indeed,  there,  as  everywhere,  even  in  the  worst  state  of  soci 
ety,  there  was  scope  and  room  in  the  profession  for  men  of 
honor  and  principle.  And  though,  at  times,  it  might  appear 
that  the  quickest  road  to  wealth  and  distinction,  lay  by  the 
short  cut  through  which  Napoleon  B.  Spelter  and  his  satelites 
were  driving  with  such  speed,  yet,  in  the  end,  it  will  no  doubt 
prove,  indeed  it  already  has  proven,  that  those  gentlemen  who 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  295 

remained  true  to  the  obligations  of  honor,  of  truth  and  justice,— 
obligations  resting  most  heavily  upon  the  shoulders  of  lawyers, 
because  of  the  influence  they  wield  in  society, — have  been  the 
most  successful,  and  are  the  most  honored  and  renowned. 
Such  were  General  Williams,  Mr.  Covington,  Judge  Burden, 
Mr.  Mason,  and  Mr.  Wright ;  Mr.  Stewart,  also,  must  not  be 
forgotten,  as  well  as  many  others. 

Harry  presented  his  letter  to  the  first  of  the  above  named 
gentlemen.  General  Williams  was  a  gentleman  advanced  in 
years,  who  had  through  life  borne  a  high  reputation  for  legal 
ability,  as  well  as  for  honor  and  integrity. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Stacey,"  said  General  Williams, 
after  reading  his  letter.  "Can  I  be  of  any  service  to  you 
while  here  ?  " 

Harry  thanked  the  General  for  the  kind  inquiry,  and  asked 
for  a  private  interview  upon  a  matter  of  importance. 

"This  way,"  said  the  General,  politely;  and  they  walked  into 
his  private  office.  Here,  when  they  were  seated,  Harry  ex 
plained  to  the  General  the  matter  upon  his  mind,  impressing 
him  with  its  strictly  secret  nature.  Having  gone  over  the 
ground  as  completely  as  it  was  in  his  power  to  do,  he  asked  for 
the  advice  of  the  veteran. 

General  Williams  put  many  questions  to  Harry,  tending  to 
draw  out  any  concealed  or  forgotten  facts,  that  might  disclose 
a  motive  for  the  imprisonment  of  Mr.  Graham.  But,  becoming 
satisfied  at  last  that  the  young  man  had  told  him  all  that  he 
himself  knew,  and  that  no  more  was  to  be  found  out,  he  delib 
erated  a  moment,  and  then  spoke. 

"  There  is  nothing  intrinsically  improbable  in  the  theory  of 
the  young  lady,  that  her  father  is  detained  in  the  mine.  Much 
more  high-handed  proceedings  are  carried  on  every  day  in  our 
midst.  As  for  there  being  no  motive  for  the  crime,  that  may 
be  simply  the  result  of  our  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  facts. 
If  we  knew  the  entire  relationship  between  Mr.  Graham  and 
the  superintendent,  or  between  the  superintendent  and  Mr. 
Graham's  family,  which  we  cannot  know,  the  ground  might 
prove  to  be  bristling  with  motives  for  even  his  death.  That  is 
no  objection  whatever.  The  weakness  of  the  theory  lies 
purely  in  the  circumstance  which  has  brought  it  into  existence. 
First,  it  is  reported,  and  apparently  proven,  that  Mr.  Graham 
has  voluntarily  either  absconded  himself,  or  fled  from  the 
country.  For  his  doing  this,  it  appears,  there  was  some  motive, 
though  even  that  does  not  strike  you  or  me  as  being  a  very 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

forcible  one.  But  you  and  I  are  lawyers,  and  know  that  the 
escape  of  the  debtor  from  his  obligations  in  this  country  is  easy, 
and  in  a  community  made  up  of  debtors,  not  attended  with  any 
considerable  degree  of  humiliation.  Mr.  Graham  was  not  a 
lawyer,  and  may  not  have  studied  clearly  the  difference  between 
a  gambling,  risk-taking  community  of  adventurers,  always  in 
debt  and  trouble,  and  an  older  and  more  stable  society,  like 
that  in  which  he  had  been  reared  and  educated.  We  have 
thus  a  probable  case  in  favor  of  the  theory  of  voluntary  con 
cealment  or  flight.  What  have  we  against  it  ?  Have  we  any 
facts,  besides  the  sick-bed  fancy,  or  the  hallucination  of  a  lady, 
confessedly  dying  from  the  shock  produced  by  her  husband's 
disappearance  ?  I  see  nothing  else.  The  circumstance  that  he 
has  not  written  to  his  family,  would,  if  accompanied  by  other 
collateral  and  supporting  facts,  be  worth  something ;  but 
alone,  it  does  not  go  for  much.  My  judgment  therefore  is,  Mr. 
Stacey,  that  no  case  is  made  out  against  the  managers  of  the 
mine,  and  that  by  waiting  a  few  days  longer,  you  will  no  doubt 
hear  of  the  fugitive,  from  some  place  of  safety ;  perhaps  in 
the  Atlantic  States,  whither  he  is  unquestionably  making  his 
way,  at  this  moment."  * 

Harry  had  not  told  General  Williams  of  his  desire  to  search 
the  mine  in  any  case,  for  the  purpose  of  relieving  the  con 
science  of  Mr.  Graham's  daughter.  He  now  did  so. 

The  General  looked  grave.  "  That  is  a  matter  worthy  of 
consideration,  Mr.  Stacey.  As  I  said  before,  there  is  nothing 
inherently  improbable,  in  the  lady's  notion  of  the  cause  of  her 
father's  absence.  I  do  not  pass  a  day  in  this  Territory  without 
hearing  of  some  act,  committed  by  the  managers  of  mines,  that 
do  not  require  for  their  performance  any  greater  degree  of  moral 
depravity  than  this, —  nor,  indeed,  much  more  boldness,  for  that 
matter.  I  only  doubt  the  story,  simply  because  it  comes  to 
me  from  so  questionable  a  source  as  the  disordered  brain  of  a 
dying  woman ;  and  comes  with  no  supporting  circumstances . 
But  if  the  young  lady  feels  a  moral,  a  filial  duty,  pressing  upon 
her  to  investigate  this  theory,  she  undoubtedly  possesses  the 
right  to  do  so  ;  and  any  one  opposing  the  exercise  of  the  right 
at  once  raises  the  very  thing  her  theory  lacks  that  is  a  collat 
eral  circumstance  in  its  support.  If  he  is  not  there,  why  object 
to  a  search?" 

"I  do  not  know  that  any  one  does  object,  General  Williams 
We  are  told  by  the  people  in  charge,  and  that  is  the  opinion 
generally  of  the  public,  that  for  some  time  past  the  mine  has 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  297 

been  filled  with  gases  destructive  to  human  life,  and  cannot  be 
entered.  But  no  one  has  offered  to  enter  the  mine,  nor  have 
we  any  reason  to  suppose  that  any  resistance  would  be  made 
were  we  to  propose  to  do  it." 

"Is  the  place  kept  locked  and  guarded?"  asked  General 
Williams,  after  thinking  a  moment. 

"It  is,  General.  I  was  there  this  morning,  and  found  six  men 
in  the  place  at  an  early  hour,  and  the  door  locked  on  the  inner 
side." 

'  But  you  were  allowed  to  enter  ?  " 

*  Yes,  I  was  let  in,  after  some  hesitation." 

'  Did  you  see  anything  unusual  ?  " 

1  Nothing ;   but  I  am  wholly  unaccustomed  to  mines." 

'  I  see,  I  see,"  cried  the  General,  rising  from  his  chair,  and, 
walking  up  and  down  the  room,  "you  wrould  not  have  suspected, 
or  understood  it,  had  there  been  anything  unusual.  You  did 
not  offer  to  descend  ?  " 

"No,  I  did  not,"  answered  Harry,  "I  did  not  deem  it  pru 
dent." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  General,  still  walking  up  and  down. 
"  Of  course  you  did  not ;  if  the  story  of  the  choke  damps  was 
true,  you  could  not  go  on." 

"  If  it  was  false,  the  danger  would  have  even  been  greater  from 
other  causes." 

"  I  see,  I  see  ;  you  could  not  go  down,  or  even  talk  about  it. 
You  acted  prudently."  After  musing  for  a  time,  the  General 
continued,  "If  you  are  to  act  on  the  young  lady's  theory,  Mr. 
Stacey,  you  owe  it  to  her  to  go  upon  the  full  presumption  that 
Mr.  Graham  is  in  the  mine  and  living,  at  the  moment  you  act. 
Any  other  course  would  not  only  fail,  in  the  event  of  her  being 
correct  in  her  notion,  but  would  result  most  disastrously  to  the 
prisoner.  Those  who  may  now  be  simply  detaining  him  for  a 
time,  till  some  event  is  accomplished,  for  example,  possibly 
with  the  idea  of  liberating  him  hereafter,  might,  in  their  alarm 
for  their  own  safety,  destroy  him.  They  must  not  be  apprised 
of  your  suspicions,  till  you  are  prepared  to  strike  a  decisive 
blow." 

"  Then,  what  is  your  advice,  General  ?  "  asked  Harry. 

"  A  habeas  corpus  is  the  only  remedy  that  the  law  can 
afford.  I  know  of  nothing  else,  but  even  that,  in  so  delicate 
a  case,  I  acknowledge  to  be  of  doubtful  efficacy.  If  the  parties 
would  make  resistance  of  any  sort,  it  would  be  the  better  for  us. 


298  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

A  resistance  to  the  process  would  arouse  public  opinion  and 
a  riot  would  follow,  or  rather  the  mine  would  be  attacked  at 
once,  by  a  mob  of  angry  miners,  who  are  the  only  irresistible 
force  in  this  country,  and  the  place  would  be  searched  by  them. 
If  he  was  found  the  wrong-doers  would  be  hanged  on  the  spot. 
But  mobs  are  always  spontaneous,  and  cannot  be  produced  or 
controlled  by  individuals.  Again,  the  fact  of  their  resistance  to 
process  would  furnish  what  our  case  lacks.  That  is  some  proof, 
sufficient  to  overcome  the  apparent  absurdity  of  the  origin  of 
our  theory  in  a  sick  woman's  dream.  The  very  thing  I  fear  is, 
that  the  officer  will  be  received  with  courtesy,  and  told  to  de 
scend.  Even  if  he  takes  the  risk,  and  faces  the  supposed, 
noxious  gases,  the  prisoner  would  have  been  made  away  with 
before -assistance  could  reach  him." 

Harry  confessed  the  difficulties  that  lay  upon  all  sides. 

"  But,  General,  you  recommend  the  writ  in  the  ordinary  way  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is  nothing  else  that  I  see.  Though  I  con 
fess  that  but  for  the  frame  of  rnind  into  which  the  daughter 
seems  to  have  fallen,  I  should  recommend  nothing.  You  are 
welcome  to  my  office  to  prepare  your  papers,  Mr.  Stacey,  and, 
in  the  interest  of  humanity  I  willingly  volunteer  my  own  ser 
vices  in  the  matter  to  assist  you." 

Harry  thanked  -General  Williams,  and  sat  down  at  once. 

"  I  have  almost  everything  prepared  now,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  only  to  fill  in  the  blanks  left  in  the  papers.  What  course 
do  you  recommend,  General  ?  " 

"  Any  will  do,  sir.  The  writ  issues,  of  course,  upon  the  or 
dinary  affidavits  ;  and  to  find  Mr.  Graham  is  to  release  him,  for 
there  can  be  no  question  about  the  illegality  of  his  detention. 
Your  success  will  be  a  matter  that  will  rest  more  with  the  sher 
iff  than  with  the  judge.  Make  it  returnable  before  Judge  Puf- 
gall.  He  is  in  town,  I  believe.  Who  makes  your  affidavits, 
Mr.  Stacey?  Who  is  to  swear  to  the  fact  of  his  detention?  " 

Harry  looked  up  in  dismay.  He  had  not  thought  of  this 
question  before. 

To  procure  the  writ  an  oath  must  be  taken  to  the  effect  that 
the  person  demanding  its  issuance  had  good  reason  to  believe, 
and  did  believe,  that  Mr.  Graham  was  detained  against  his  will, 
and  held  an  unlawful  prisoner  in  the  mine,  by  the  individuals 
in  charge  thereof. 

As  a  rule,  lawyers  never  like  to  make  affidavits.  Perhaps  it 
may  arise  from  a  consciousness  of  the  facility  with  which  their 
clients  are  generally  willing  to  make  them.  It  is  an  axiom  with 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  299 

the  profession  that  each  man  ought,  and  generally  can  do,  his 
own  swearing,  and  this  theory  has  been  sustained  by  an  expe 
rience  as  old  as  the  invention  of  oaths. 

But  here  was  an  exceptional  case.  Harry  had  heard  Miss 
Graham  say  that  she  was  not  acting  upon  reason,  that  she  had 
no  opinions  upon  the  subject,  but  was  moved  by  an  impulse 
which  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  obey. 

No  doubt,  had  Harry  carried  the  papers  to  her,  and,  without 
explanation,  told  her  that  she  must  verify  them,  she  would  have 
acted  as  people  generally  do  under  similar  circumstances. 
She  would  have  taken  the  oath  without  thinking  much  about 
it. 

But  he  did  not  wish  to  go  to  her  with  it.  First,  he  dreaded 
to  tell  her  how  little  faith  he  had  in  the  dying  fancy  of  her 
mother.-  And,  again,  he  did  not  like  the  idea  of  permitting  her 
to  be  sworn  to  a  fact  that,  he  felt  sure,  she  only  half  be 
lieved. 

He  explained  these  difficulties  to  General  Williams,  with  the 
bearing  they  had  upon  his  mind. 

"It  is  now  too  late  for  you  to  do  anything  to-day,"  said  the 
General.  "  You  will  have  until  to-morrow  morning  to  deliber 
ate  upon  your  course.  No  movement  must  be  made  till  all  is 
ready." 

To  this  Harry  agreed,  and,  as  it  was  near  night,  took  his  way 
to  his  room  at  the  American  Eagle  Hotel. 

Here  he  sat  down  in  a  brown  study,  as  to  what  course  to 
pursue.  He  could  not  take  the  oath  himself ;  he  did  not  feel 
that  he  had  sufficient  cause  for  believing  that  Mr.  Graham  was 
in  the  mine.  In  truth,  he  did  not  believe  him  to  be  there. 
Should  he  go  to  Helen  and  explain  this  fact  to  her,  and  ask 
her  to  do  so,  the  fact  of  his  own  doubt  would  almost  certainly 
reflect  itself  in  her  mind,  and  she,  too,  would  either  refuse  to 
be  sworn,  or  do  so,  perhaps,  with  a  severe  wound  to  her  own 
conscience. 


300  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

THE    OBSTACLE- REMOVED. 

WHILE  Harry  was  engaged  in  turning  the  matter  over  in 
his  mind,  he  was  disturbed  by  a  knock  at  his  door. 

It  proved  to  be  Jack  Gowdy,  the  stage-driver,  who  had  just 
arrived  from  across  the  mountains,  whither  he  had  gone  in  his 
regular  turn  the  day  after  the  funeral  of  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Jack  ?  "  cried  Harry,  delighted  to  see  his 
old  friend.  "I  missed  you  when  I  came  over,  greatly  to  my 
disappointment,  and  was  obliged  to  ride  all  the  way  inside  the 
coach." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Jack,  after  a  burst  of  pleasure  at  seeing 
Harry,  during  which  they  both  sat  down.  "  But  the  truth  is, 
sir,  that  stage-driving  is  getting  into  a  bad  way.  Gentlemen 
are  quitting  it,  and  it  is  falling  into  the  hands  of  sneaks  and 
trash.  Half  the  drivers  now  don't  know  a  gentleman  when  they 
see  him.  And  good  reason  why,  sir.  Because  they  have  not 
been  brought  up  gentlemen  themselves.  It  is  not  in  them,  sir. 
They  think  because  a  man  has  got  on  a  black  coat  that  he  is  a 
gentleman,  and  so  they  fill  up  the  best  seats  with  tract  peddlers, 
exhorters,  and  Methodist  preachers,  and  white-check  men  of  all 
sorts,  — fellows  that  would  be  afraid  to  risk  a  bogus  Mexican  \ 
dollar  on  four  aces.  If  I  don't  have  mighty  big  luck  and 
get  killed  soon,  I  expect  to  live  to  see  free  niggers  driving 
stage ! " 

Here  Jack  held  up  his  hands,  as  if  in  a  mute  prayer  to  the 
powers  above  to  be  permitted,  before  that  dreaded  day,  to  de 
part  in  peace. 

"  When  do  you  go  back  home,  Mr.  Stacey  ?  I  want  to  know, 
so  that  I  can  see  that  you  are  not  obliged  to  ride  with  any  blue- 
bellied  Yankees,  or  free  niggers.  For  if  there  is  anything  in 
this  world  that  I  hate,  it  is  the  company  of  low,  ignorant,  vulgar 
people,  and  I  never  want  to  see  gentlemen  forced  to  consort 
with  such.  I  can't  stand  them,  sir." 

Harry  told  Jack  that  his  return  was  quite  uncertain. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  301 

"  You  know  I  am  over  here  about  the  suit  against  Mr.  Gra 
ham's  mine." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  so,"  said  Jack.  "  I  hope  you  will  get  justice 
for  him,  especially  as  he  is  away.  All  he  wants,  you  know,  is 
a  square  deal,  and  then  he  is  bound  to  beat  the  thieves.  Old 
Snake  weed  is  against  you,  I  believe,  is  he  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Harry,  "but  the  chief  lawyer  for  that  side  is  the 
great  man  of  the  Washoe  bar,  Mr.  Napoleon  B.  Spelter." 

"  Is  he,  though  ?  "  said  Jack,  with  a  long  face.  "  Well,  I  am 
sorry,  for  they  say  he  never  loses  a  trick,  but  just  clears  the 
board  every  deal.  My  business  in  here  was  to  say  to  you  that 
old  Snakeweed  will,  most  likely,  come  over  with  me,  and  if  he 
does,  I  can  run  him  off  over  the  bank  and  break  his  neck,  if 
that  will  be  of  any  service  to  you.  It  would  only  be  to  kill 
two  birds  with  one  stone,  for,  you  know,  I  owe  him  a  little  bal 
ance  on  an  old  account." 

"  No,"  said  Harry,  laughing  at  Jack's  serious  air,  "  it  would 
not  be  the  least  benefit ;  for  there  are  a  dozen  just  like  him 
now  here,  to  take  his  place.  If  poor  Mr.  Graham  was  only  at 
home,  they  would  not  bring  on  the  trial.  It  is  to  take  advan 
tage  of  his  extraordinary  disappearance,  that  they  are  now 
pressing  the  matter  forward." 

"Why  don't  you  send  over  to  Salt  Lake,  and  fetch  him 
home  ?  "  said  Jack.  "  There  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
be  here,  except  that  he  is  too  thin-skinned.  If  he  once  under 
stood  how  people  feel  towards  him,  he  would  come  back  fast 
enough." 

"  Do  you  think  he  is  at  Salt  Lake,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Do  I  think  so?  "  said  the  stage-driver,  confidently.  "  WThy, 
I  don't  think  anything  about  it,  I  know  he  is  there.  When  you 
know  a  thing,  you  don't  think  it,  do  you  ?  —  you  know  it.  Well, 
I  know  he  is  at  Salt  Lake." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  cried  Harry,  eagerly.    "  How  do  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know  it  ?  "  said  Jack,  stopping,  and  scratching 
his  head  in  a  perplexed  way.  "Well,  I  can't  tell  you  exactly 
how  I  know  it.  I  think  somebody  must  have  told  me  so.  I 
can't  just  remember  at  this  moment  who  it  was;  but  I  have 
heard  it,  I  am  sure." 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  trouble,  Jack  ;  nobody  knows,  of  their  own 
knowledge,  where  the  poor  gentleman  is.  His  daughter  thinks 
that  she  knows  where  he  is,  but  her  reasons  for  knowing  it  are 
no  better  than  yours." 


302  ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE. 

"  Does  she  think  she  knows  ? "  inquired  Jack,  eagerly. 
"Where  does  she  think  her  father  is  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  tell  you,  Jack,  for  it  is  a  secret, 
and  must  remain  so  till  to-morrow." 

"Till  to-morrow,  Mr.  Stacey?  Well,  can't  you  trust  Jack 
Gowdy  with  anything  that  belongs  to  that  young  woman  till  to 
morrow  ?  If  you  can't,  then  it's  about  time  he  handed  in  hib 
checks,  and  quit  the  game,  for  his  credit  has  run  down  to  a  low 
pass." 

"I  don't  mean  that,  Jack,"  said  Harry,  "but  you  know  se 
crets  that  are  not  our  own,  we  have  no  right  to  divulge." 

"  But  you  must  tell  somebody,  Mr.  Stacey.  If  you  are  go 
ing  to  blow  the  thing  up  to-morrow,  it's  because  you  are  going 
after  the  old  man.  Well,  you  might  want  company  in  the  ex 
pedition.  Jack  Gowdy  is  considered  a  reliable  gentleman 
when  there  is  any  business  to  be  done  in  his  line." 

It  occurred  to  Harry  in  an  instant  that  in  the  execution  of 
the  writ,  the  sheriff  might  want  assistance ;  and,  having  full 
confidence  in  Jack's  honesty,  he  told  him  what  was  about  to 
be  done. 

"  Miss  Graham  has  an  idea,  Jack,  not  a  strong  one,  for  it  is 
only  a  fancy,  that  her  father  may  be  down  in  the  mine." 

"  What  mine,  Mr.  Stacey  ?  " 

"  His  own  mine,  Jack,  —  the  Graham  mine." 

"What  is  he  doing  down  there  ?  —  Dead,  does  she  think  ?  " 

"  No,  she  thinks  that  he  is  living.  She  fancies  that  the  men 
in  charge  of  it  are  keeping  him  in  the  mine  a  prisoner,  for 
some  reason,  and  she  does  not  know  what." 

"  Whew  !  "  whistled  Jack,  in  a  long,  clear  whistle,  not  stop 
ping  till  his  lungs  were  emptied.  "  That  is  it,  by  the  living  : 
hokey  !  I  hope  to  be  eternally  bursted  and  chewed  up,  if  the 
old  man  is  not  at  the  bottom  of  the  mine  !  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
known  it  from  the  first !  Mr.  Stacey,  that  girl  knows  more 
than  all  of  us  put  together;  and  I  said  so,  the  first  time  I 
ever  clapped  eyes  on  her.  You  can  see  it  in  her  nostrils ; 
she  has  the  thorough-bred  cut,  that  no  man  ever  saw  in  any 
but  first-class  stock.  Did  you  ever  see  a  full  blooded  eclipse 
colt,  Mr.  Stacey  ?  " 

No  ;  Harry  never  had. 

"Well,  it's  a  pity;  for  you  would  understand  the  points  of 
that  girl.  She  is  right,  sir ;  the  old  man  is  in  the  mine,  and 
the  thieves  are  keeping  him  there." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Jack  ?  " 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  303 

"  I  don't  think  anything  about  it ;  I  know  it,"  said  Jack,  with 
more  confidence  than  ever.  "And  you  are  going  after  him,  to 
morrow,  are  you,  Mr.  Stacey  ?  " 

"  That  has  been  my  plan.  I  have  been  drawing  the  papers 
to-day,  to  procure  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus,  that  will  enable  us 
to  visit  the  mine.  But  just  now,  I  am  in  a  little  perplexity 
about  making  the  oath  necessary  to  procure  the  writ.  I  can 
not,  conscientiously,  swear  that  I  believe  Mr.  Graham  is  in  the 
mine.  It  is  true  that  he  may  possibly  be  there ;  but  to  say 
that  I  believe  it,  I  cannot." 

Jack  considered  a  moment,  and  then  he  said, — 

"  I  should  not  think  that  very  heavy  swearing  would  be 
required  in  such  a  case  as  this.  I  have  known  horse  thieves, 
and  all  sorts  of  scoundrels  to  be  got  clear  with  a  '  habis  carcus,' 
in  the  States.  Somebody  must  have  done  the  swearing.  Now, 
in  an  honest  case  like  this,  I  would  think  that  the  wear  and 
tear  on  the  conscience  could  not  be  much." 

Harry  explained  that  the  oath,  in  each  case,  was  precisely 
the  same. 

"  Well,  that  is  odd,"  said  Jack.  "  It  looks  very  strange  to 
me,  that  it  takes  as  much  swearing  to  get  an  honest,  Christian 
gentleman  away  from  a  pack  of  garotters  and  scoundrels,  as  it 
takes  to  get  a  horse  thief  out  of  the  penitentiary,  when  he  has 
been  caught  riding  the  nag  out  of  the  country.  I  can't  under 
stand  it." 

Harry  could  not  explain  any  further  than  he  had  already 
done ;  and  so,  Jack  sat  apparently  revolving  the  anomaly  in 
his  mind.  At  last  he  spoke. 

"  Mr.  Stacey,"  said  he,  "  is  the  swearing  very  tall  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  precisely  understand  you,  Jack." 

"  Well,  what  I  mean,  is,  to  ask,  is  it  what  might  be  called 
rough  swearing.  Is  the  swearing  necessary  to  get  Mr.  Graham 
out  of  the  hands  of  them  garotters  and  superintendents,  and 
such  like,  as  seems  to  have  got  him  down,  such  very  hard 
swearing  that  it  takes  a  scientific  man  to  do  it  ?  "  Seeing  that 
Harry  only  looked  more  perplexed  by  his  question  ;  he  contin 
ued,  —  "  what  I  mean  to  ask,  Mr.  Stacey,  is  this  :  can  a  gentleman 
who  has  always  earned  his  own  living  by  hard  work,  and  who 
has  not  got  any  too  much  book  learning,  —  can  such  a  gentle 
man  as  that,  I  say,  come  square  up  to  the  point,  if  he  puts  his 
whole  mind  to  it  ?  " 

Harry  explained  that  the  oath  was  very  simple,  requiring  no 


304:  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

scientific  attainments,  but  being  merely  a  question  of  con 
science. 

"  Well,  that  is  all  right,  Mr.  Stacey.  Now  answer  me  one 
more  question.  Suppose  a  gentleman,  not  a  professional  man 
in  such  matters,  nor  yet  a  scientific  man,  but  say  a  man  who 
never  swore  much  except  privately,  on  his  own  account,  at  sta 
ble  men,  and  hostlers,  and  faro  dealers,  when  they  did  not  pull 
the  cards  square,  and  abolitionists,  and  free  niggers  occasionally, 
in  a  general  way;  —  suppose,  I  say,  such  a  man  as  that  should 
commence  swearing  up  this  case,  say  this  evening,  as  soon  as 
we  could  commence  work,  and  should  keep  it  up  steady,  with 
out  interruption,  till  to-morrow  morning  at  five  o'clock,  do  you 
think  we  could  fetch  it  up  to  the  notch  ?  " 

Harry  looked  at  Jack,  laughingly,  for  he  did  not  quite  under 
stand  whether  or  not  he  was  serious,  and  said,  — 

"Yes;  it  can  be  done  in  much  less  time  than  that,  Jack." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Jack,  sitting  back  in  his  chair,  composedly, 
"  that  is  my  hand." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Jack  ?  "  asked  Harry. 

"  I  mean,  Mr.  Stacey,  that  it  would  gratify  me  very  much,  if 
I  could  take  a  swear  at  them  there  documents." 

"  Do  you  mean,  Jack,  that  you  wish  to  make  the  affidavits 
necessary  to  procure  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus  in  this  matter  ?  " 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  do  want  to  do,  Mr.  Stacey.  I  could 
not  have  put  it  in  just  those  words,  but  that  is  what  I  mean.  If 
you  had  practised  it  a  week,  you  could  not  have  hit  my  idea 
nearer  to  the  centre." 

"  But,  Jack,  do  you  really  believe  that  Mr.  Graham  is  down 
in  the  mine,  and  that  he  is  detained  there  against  his  will,  by 
his  own  superintendent  ?  " 

"  Is  that  what  Miss  Helen  says,  Mr.  Stacey?" 

"  That  is  what  she  fears  may  be  the  case,  Jack  ;  she  does  not 
say  so.  She  fears  that  it  may  be  so." 

"Is  that  what  them  documents  say,  Mr.  Stacey?" 

"Yes,  Jack  ;  that  is  the  substance  of  the  petition.  Now,  do 
you  believe  it  ?  " 

"Do  I  believe  it?  Mr.  Stacey,  I  don't  believe  nothing 
about  it,  sir  ;  I  told  you  that  at  the  start.  I  know  he  is  down 
there.  I  am  as  certain  of  it,  as  I  am  that  I  am  sitting  here,  at 
this  moment,  talking  to  you.  Mr.  Stacey,  I  would  back  that 
lady's  judgment,  if  1  had  the  money,  for  a  million  of  dollars,  on 
any  card  she  would  name.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  know  that 
she  says  he  is  there,  or  that  the  chances  are  that  he  is  there, 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  305 

and  I  go  my  pile  on  it  in  any  shape  the  game  takes.  I'll  bet 
on  it ;  I'll  swear  to  it ;  I'll  fight  for  it ;  and,  Mr.  Stacey,  it  may 
not  become  me  to  say  it,  but  it  is  only  the  frozen  truth,  by  the 
Eternal ;  I'll  die  for  it,  if  it  is  necessary.  So  trot  out  your 
papers,  and  let  us  begin  at  once  ;  because,  you  know,  I  leave 
here  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"Jack,"  said  Harry,  in  a  hesitating  manner,  "  do  you  intend 
to  tell  me  that  you  wish  to  make  the  oaths  to  this  petition  upon 
your  present  knowledge  of  the  facts  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Stacey.  I've  no  doubt  in  the  world,  in  the  first 
place,  that  Mr.  Graham  is  kept  in  the  mine  by  the  superintend 
ent.  And  if  you  knew  superintendents  as  well  as  I  do,  you 
would  be  as  clear  about  it  as  I  am.  I  copper  all  mining  super 
intendents,  I  do,  at  every  turn.  In  the  second  place,  there 
never  was  a  paper  drawn,  that  Miss  Graham  said  was  right,  or 
half  way  right,  that  I  would  not  swear  to  till  I  was  black  in  the 
face,  whether  I  believed  it  or  not.  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  never  go 
behind  that  lady's  word,  and  I  don't  think  that  any  gentleman 
ought  to  go  behind  such  a  lady's  word,  or,  indeed,  any  lady's 
word.  It  is  my  duty,  as  a  gentleman,  to  back  up  that  lady  with 
my  coin,  with  my  fire-arms,  and  with  my  oath,  when  it  is  neces 
sary.  And  when  I  forget  what  a  gentleman's  duty  is  towards  a 
lady,  especially  when  that  lady  is  in  trouble,  I  want  somebody 
to  tell  me  that  it  is  time  to  hand  in  my  checks,  and  quit ;  and 
I  want  to  hand  them  in,  there  and  then." 

"  But,  Jack,  suppose  it  should  turn  out,  after  all,  that  Miss 
Graham  was  mistaken  about  the  whole  matter.  What  would 
people  say  to  you  ?  for  you  must  know,  if  you  make  this  oath, 
it  will  be  understood  that  you  are  the  principal  mover  in  the 
matter.  It  will  be  thought  that  you  are  the  originator  of  the 
whole  idea." 

"Will  it,  though?"  cried  Jack,  evidently  delighted  at  the 
prospect.  "  That  suits  me  ;  that's  my  hand.  I  want  them  to 
think  so.  As  for  the  matter  failing,  it  can't  fail,  sir ;  for  the 
old  man  is  down  there,  sure.  In  the  next  place,  if  it  does, 
nobody  will  dare  to  say  a  word  to  Jack  Gowdy  about  it.  When 
he  has  done  his  duty  to  a  woman,  and  that  woman  in  distress, 
do  you  think  any  thieving  mining  superintendent  is  going  to 
call  him  to  account  for  his  conduct  ?  Not  if  he  knows  himself! 
Do  you  know,  Mr.  Stacey,  what  I  would  do  to  that  fellow, 
Bloodstone,  that  I  have  always  known  for  a  thief,  since  the 
first  time  I  put  eyes  on  him,  if  he  should  presume  to  speak 


306  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

to  me  about  anything  I  did  conscientiously,  and  in  a  gentle 
manly  way,  for  that  poor,  grief-stricken  lady  ?  " 

Harry  gave  Jack  to  understand  that  he  was  not  fully  informed 
upon  that  point. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  I  would  cut  both  of  his  ears  off  smooth 
to  his  head.  And  do  you  think  I  would  let  him  go  at  that  ? 
not  if  I  know  myself  intimately.  I  would  scalp  him  into  the 
bargain ;  I  would  not  leave  him  as  much  hair  as  would  make  a 
wig  for  a  bald  headed  June  bug.  No,  sir  ;  nor  half  as  much. 
Mr.  Stacey,"  said  Jack,  wrathfully  rising  up,  as  the  idea  of 
Bloodstone  presuming  to  call  him  to  account  came  to  his  mind. 
"  If  the  infernal  scoundrel  comes  fooling  around  me,  by  God  ! 
sir,  I  will  knock  out  his  bung  on  the  spot,  and  let  him  run  out 
in  the  gutter  !" 

"  If  you  are  sincerely  in  earnest,"  cried  Harry,  himself  con 
verted  by  Jack's  enthusiasm,  to  a  feeling  that  he  could  take  the 
oath  with  no  great  stretch  of  conscience,  "  we  will  go  at  it  at 
once." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  sincere,  Mr.  Stacey  ;  and  I  would  consider  it 
only  too  great  an  honor  to  be  allowed  a  chance  in  that  lady's 
cause,  to  go  at  the  thieves.  That  poor  lady  is  in  trouble,  and 
Jack  Gowdy  never  forgets  that  he  is  a  gentleman,  when  a 
woman  needs  the  help  of  one.  When  he  does,  Mr.  Stacey,  he 
hopes  that  day  will  be  his  last  one  on  this  earth." 

Jack's  boundless  faith  had  converted  the  young  lawyer.  He 
was  already  growing  ashamed  of  his  own  scruples.  Indeed,  the 
oath  was  one  necessary  to  be  taken.  The  writ  of  habeas  corpus, 
the  shield  of  oppressed  innocence,  could  not  be  obtained  with 
out  it.  To  delay  in  such  a  matter,  when  life  and  death  really 
depended  upon  time,  was,  after  all,  carrying  matters  of  con-* 
science,  perhaps,  to  a  dangerous  point.  Jack's  enthusiastic 
willingness  had  brought  Harry  to  the  point  that  he  himself 
would  have  taken  the  oath  now,  if  Jack  had  not  been  ready 
to  do  so. 

"Very  well;  let  us  be  off,  and  attend  to  the  matter  im 
mediately." 

So  saying,  the  two  young  men  arose,  and  left  the  room 
together  , 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  3u7 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

THE    KING'S   WRIT   RUNNETH    NOT    IN   THE    GRAHAM    MINE. 

JACK  GOWDY  finished  the  affidavits  in  time  to  start  away  over 
the  mountains  at  the  proper  time.  Indeed,  he  was  much  sur 
prised  at  the  small  amount  of  swearing  that  sufficed. 

"  Is  that  all?"  he  cried,  when  told  that  the  business  was  com 
pleted.  "  I  supposed  it  would  take  an  hour  or  two,  at  least." 

At  an  early  hour  the  next  morning,  Harry  appeared  before 
Judge  Pufgall  and  procured  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus,  and  hur 
ried  away  in  search  of  the  sheriff,  to  serve  it.  Everything  de 
pended  upon  the  zeal  and  good  faith  of  the  executive  officer, 
in  whose  hands  he  should  place  the  writ.  He  had  been  told  by 
General  Williams  from  the  first  that  the  difficulty  lay  in  that 
quarter ;  nor  had  the  General  been  able  to  give  him  much  en 
couragement  to  hope.  "  These  officers,"  he  said,  "  are  often 
corrupt,  and  still  more  frequently  they  are  influenced  by  politi 
cal  considerations  to  favor  persons  who  can  serve  them  here 
after  at  elections.  This  might  seriously  inconvenience  your  op 
erations,  even  in  a  case  where  there  was  a  marked  probability 
of  foul  play.  But  in  this  case,  the  officer  will  most  surely  dis 
believe  the  whole  story.  He  will  feel  certain  from  the  begin 
ning  that  nothing  can  come  of  it,  and  he  will  hesitate  to  offend 
anybody  by  a  zealous  and  vigorous  execution  of  the  writ. 
There  is,  therefore,  great  danger  that  if  he  performs  his  duty  at 
all,  it  will  be  in  so  lax  and  prefactory  a  nianner  that  no  good 
will  come  of  it.  But  you  can  only  try  and  do  your  best.  For 
tune  may  favor  you  in  some  special  manner." 

With  these  very  discouraging  words  still  in  his  ear,  the  young 
man  directed  his  steps  to  the  office  of  the  sheriff.  He  was  re 
ceived  politely  enough,  and  presented  his  papers.  The  officer 
examined  them  in  silence,  and  appeared,  when  he  had  read 
them,  to  be  not  a  little  perplexed. 

"Mr.  Graham  detained  in  his  own  mine, — by  his  superinten 
dent  and  certain  workmen  ! "  said  he,  at  last,  repeating  in  a  tone 


308  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

of  doubt  the  substance  of  the  petition.  "  Why  do  you  think 
so,  sir?" 

This  petition  to  Harry  was  one  calculated  to  draw  out  a  sharp 
reply.  His  impulse  was,  to  suggest  that  it  did  not  concern  the 
officer  why  he  thought  so,  as  the  order  of  the  court  was  all  that 
he  need  look  at.  But,  remembering  the  peculiarity  of  his  posi 
tion,  he  made  an  answer  tending  to  pass  the  matter  over  as 
pleasantly  as  possible. 

" It  had  been  thought,"  so  he  said,  "that  Mr.  Graham  was 
imprisoned  there,  but  he  was  not  at  liberty  for  the  moment  to 
disclose  the  grounds  for  the  notion." 

"  It  is  the  idea  of  an  insane  person,"  answered  the  officer. 
"  The  mine  is  filled  with  mephitic  gases,  and  no  person  can  live 
for  a  moment  within  it." 

"Have  you  been  in  the  mine,  recently,  sir?"  asked  Harry. 

"No,"  answered  the  officer  ;  "  but  I  hear  so  from  everybody. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  such  is  the  case." 

"Will  you  execute  the  writ?"  asked  the  lawyer,  struggling  to 
keep  down  his  anger. 

"I  am  not  the  sheriff,"  answered  the  man,  coolly. 

"You  are  not  the  sheriff!     What  are  you,  then  ?" 

"  I  am  only  his  deputy.  The  sheriff  is  absent  in  a  distant 
part  of  the  country,  and  will  not  be  back  for  three  days." 

"  But  if  you  are  his  deputy,  what  is  to  prevent  your  serving 
this  writ?" 

"Nothing,  only  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  prefer  to  have 
the  chief  officer,  instead  of  a  subordinate.  He  may  have  some 
power  of  successfully  inhaling  and  living  in  the  midst  of  choke- 
damps,  that  a  mere  deputy  does  not  possess.  I  am  sure  I  do 
not  wish  to  try  it ;  at  least,  not  till  I  am  high  sheriff." 

This  the  man  said  with  a  sneer  that  boded  ill  for  poor  Harry's 
success. 

"I  cannot  wait  for  his  return,  sir,  and  must  ask  you  to  do 
it." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  man,  folding  up  the  papers  and  shoving 
them  into  a  pigeon-hole  of  his  desk.  "  I  will  attend  to  it  in 
the  course  of  the  day." 

"  But,"  cried  Plarry,  in  distress,  "  I  would  like  to  go  with  you 
when  you  serve  the  papers  ;  and  I  am  here  now  for  that  pur 
pose." 

"  It  will  not  be  necessary,"  said  the  man,  coldly.  "  I  know 
Mr.  Bloodstone  very  well.  He  is  one  of  my  most  intimate 
friends.  There  will  be  no  obstacle  thrown  in  the  way  of  the 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  309 

writ,  believe  me,  sir.  My  friend,  Mr.  Bloodstone,  is  a  gentle 
man  who  respects  the  law  of  the  land,  and  would  not,  I  am 
sure,  raise  a  finger  to  obstruct  its  execution.  You  need  give 
yourself  no  uneasiness  about  the  matter.  In  the  course  of  the 
day  I  will  call  on  him,  and  we  will  do  our  duty." 

"But  what  is  to  prevent  your  attending  to  it  at  once ?" 

"I  am  not  obliged  by  the  law  to  do  so,  sir;  so  long  as  we 
act  with  reasonable  diligence,  the  law  is  satisfied.  If  you  are 
a  lawyer,  sir,  you  must  know  that.  I  do  not  wish  to  disturb 
my  friend,  Mr.  Bloodstone,  of  whose  innocence  of  this  disgrace 
ful  charge,  I  am  already  as  well  convinced  as  if  I  had  been 
through  the  mine.  I  am  aware  sir,"  he  continued,  with  a  lofty 
manner,  observing  Harry  looking  at  him  with  an  expression  of 
astonishment,  not  unmingled  with  anger,  "that  my  private  opin 
ions  do  not  relieve  me  from  the  necessity  of  performing  my  of 
ficial  duty,  nor  shall  I  permit  them  to  do  so  in  any  manner. 
But  I  am  not  obliged  to  forget  that  my  friend  is  a  gentleman, 
simply  because  some  needy  attorney  chooses  to  trump  up 
against  him  a  charge  as  frivolous  as  it  is  scandalous." 

Harry  felt  a  strong  disposition  to  strike  the  man,  but  it  was 
certain  that  by  doing  so  all  would  be  surely  ruined.  He  con 
sidered  a  moment  and  then  asked  the  sheriff  not  to  go  farther 
in  the  matter  till  he  should  return. 

"  I  will  call  again  in  half  an  hour." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  deputy-sheriff,  coolly.  "As  you  please ; 
1  will  not  move  in  the  matter  before  afternoon,  in  any  event." 

"Good  morning,  sir." 

Harry  hurried  away  as  fast  as  he  could  go,  to  the  office  of 
General  Williams. 

"Well,  sir,  what  progress?"  cried  that  gentleman,  directly 
that  Harry  entered  the  room. 

The  poor  fellow  was  so  discouraged  and  disappointed,  that 
he  was  ready  to  burst  into  tears. 

"Something  is  wrong,  I  am  sure,"  continued  the  General. 
"  I  know  it  from  the  expression  of  your  face.  I  feared  you 
would  fail ;  where  is  the  obstacle  ?  " 

Harry  at  last  summoned  courage  and  told  him  all  that  had 
occurred  at  the  sheriff's  office. 

General  Williams  appeared  deeply  interested. 

"  Our  case  is  not  made  anv  worse  against  Bloodstone,"  he 
said  at  last ;  "and  therefore  Tiot  any  better  for  us.  It  is  not 
likely  that  he  knows  anything  of  this  as  yet ;  but  he  will  know 


310  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

in  a  few  minutes,  for  the  sheriff's  officer  will  send  him  woid. 
Mr.  Stacey ! "  and  here  the  General  stopped  in  front  of 
Harry,  and  spoke  in  a  decided  manner.  "  My  advice  now  is, — 
I  have  no  doubt  precisely  what  you  have  in  your  own  mind. 
Our  blow  has  miscarried.  It  is  too  late  to  remedy  the  error. 
No  matter  what  our  private  opinions  may  be  as  to  the  where 
abouts  of  Mr.  Graham,  based  upon  general  probabilities ;  we 
owe  it  to  his  daughter  and  to  humanity  to  act  in  all  respects  as 
if  we  fully  believe  that  at  this  moment  he  is  at  the  bottom  of 
his  own  mine,  still  living,  but  kept  a  prisoner  by  a  band  of 
wicked  and  unscrupulous  men.  Such  being,  therefore,  with  u^ 
the  established  fact,  what  must  be  the  result  of  continuing  our 
present  course  ?  Clearly,  it  will  be  the  immediate  destruction 
of  the  prisoner.  They  will  kill  him  in  an  hour,  simply  to  avoid 
the  disgraceful  disclosure,  to  say  nothing  of  the  danger  they  run. 
For  if  he  should  be  found  there,  a  mob  of  miners  would  proba 
bly  hang  the  whole  batch  of  conspirators  at  the  door  of  the 
hoisting  shed.  If  he  is  found  at  all,  it  will  be  only  his  dead 
body  at  the  bottom  of  some  pit,  or  floating  in  the  water,  where 
it  will  be  said  he  had  thrown  himself  in  a  fit  of  desperation, 
equivalent  to  insanity,  produced  by  his  financial  troubles.  It 
will  be  more  likely  that  he  will  not  be  found  at  all,  but  will  be 
successfully  secreted." 

"What  do  you  advise  me  to  do?"  asked  Harry,  with  a  des 
pondent  voice  ;  for  he  had,  as  General  Williams  suggested,  al 
ready  arrived  at  a  most  decided  conclusion  in  his  own  mind. 

"Hasten  away  at  once,  and  withdraw  your  papers!"  an 
swered  the  General,  promptly.  "Say  that  you  have  become 
convinced  that  it  is  all  a  mistake  of  somebody ;  some  crazy 
man  ;  an  idle  chimera,  not  worth  pursuing." 

Harry  was  away  in  a  minute,  and  soon  bolted  into  the  office 
of  the  sheriff. 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  leave  to  withdraw  the  writ  of  habeas 
corpus"  he  said.  " I  feel  that  1  have  been  misled,  and  that 
the  person  who  reported  the  matter  has  made  a  grave  and  se 
rious  mistake." 

Poor  Harry  was  telling  the  truth,  for  he  referred  to  himself, 
and  his  blundering  manner  in  showing  his  hand  before  knowing 
what  he  could  expect  of  the  officer.  The  deputy  received  him 
more  cordially  than  before. 

"I  have  been  looking  the  papers  over,"  he  said,  "and  be 
came  already  satisfied  that  you  were  not  to  blame.  You  are, 
I  perceive,  a  stranger  here  and  have  acted  upon  the  informa- 


ROBEKT  GREATHOVSE.  311 

tion  of  one  Jack  Gowdy, — a  low,  disreputable  character,  a 
drunken  stage-driver ;  indeed,  who  was  no  doubt  under  the  in 
fluence  of  intoxicating  spirits  when  he  imagined  his  remarkable 
story.  1  know  the  fellow  to  be  drunk  half  his  time." 

Harry  rose  and  made  an  effort  to  call  upon  Helen.  He 
found  her  sitting  by  the  window,  looking  up  the  street  in  the 
direction  her  father  used  to  come  home  from  the  mine.  Charley 
Hunter,  who  was  reading  a  book  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  went 
out  as  soon  as  Harry  entered.  Blanche  Mclverhad  gone  away 
that  morning  in  Jack  Gowdy' s  coach  back  to  San  Francisco. 
She  had  been  obliged,  in  obedience  to  a  telegram  from  her 
father,  to  go  over  for  a  few  days  only,  and  would  be  back  again 
soon,  so  she  promised,  by  her  friend's  side. 

Helen  rose  when  she  saw  Harry,  and  came  to  meet  him. 

"  What  news  do  you  bring  me  ?  "  she  asked,  without  waiting 
for  him  to  speak. 

He  could  only  shake  his  head,  but  this  was  enough  to  cause 
the  young  lady  to  turn  pale,  as  if  about  to  fall.  He  drew  a 
chair  to  where  she  stood,  and  she  dropped  into  it. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  she  asked,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"The  case  is  not  so  bad  as  you  fear,  Miss  Graham,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  only  I  who  have  failed.  The  position  of  your  father  has 
not,  I  trust,  been  injured." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

Then  Harry  told  her  all  that  had  been  done,  even  to  the 
minutest  particular.  He  confessed  to  her  how  hasty  and  even 
feeble  had  been  his  own  conduct.  "  I  know  that  I  have  shown 
myself  wholly  unequal  to  this  business,  Miss  Graham  ;  and  I 
am  deeply  mortified  at  a  failure  that  appears  to  me  to  be  my 
own  fault  almost  entirely." 

"  What  am  I  to  do-now?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  feel  altogether  unable  to  advise  you,  Miss  Graham,  es 
pecially  after  the  blunder  I  have  already  made." 

But  he  told  her  what  had  been  said  by  General  Williams. 

"These  are  also  my  own  views,"  he  added,  "if  you  will  ad 
mit  that  one  who  has  acted  so  weakly  can  have  views  upon 
anything." 

"  I  do  not  see  that  you  have  been  to  blame,  Mr.  Stacey," 
she  said  at  last.  "  It  appears  to  me  that  the  law  is  weak,  when 
its  enforcement  can  be  stayed  or  kept  back  by  such  influences 
as  have  caused  the  miscarriage  of  your  plans.  But,  Mr.  Stacey," 
she  continued,  with  an  earnestness  that  showed  her  to  be  upon 


312  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

the  point  of  bursting  into  tears,  "  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  cannot 
wait.  My  poor  father  may  be  dying  at  this  moment.  He  may 
not  have  food.  I  cannot  permit  him  to  die  of  hunger,  and  I 
here  in  the  same  place  and  within  a  few  hundred  feet  of  him. 
I  must  bring  him  out  of  that  place.  I  must,  indeed ! "  here 
she  broke  down,  and  sobbed  forth,  "  I  promised  my  darling 
mother,  as  I  lay  in  her  arms  when  she  was  dying,  that  I  would 
go  to  my  poor  father  and  bring  him  away.  What  shall  I  do, 
Mr.  Stacey  ?  " 

Harry  with  difficulty  kept  back  the  tears  from  his  own  eyes. 
"  The  place  is  kept  securely  locked  and  bolted,  Miss  Graham. 
Any  attack  upon  the  mine  by  a  force,  no  matter  how  strong, 
could  not  gain  admittance  until  after  time  enough  had  been 
given  the  body  of  men,  constantly  kept  in  the  hoisting  sheds,  to 
make  away  with  your  father,  if  he  is  detained  there.  Such  an 
attack,  even  if  it  could  be  made,  would  only  insure  his  imme 
diate  destruction ;  these  men  would  never  allow  him  to  be 
brought  out  alive,  to  tell  the  story  of  his  imprisonment.  But, 
if  he  were  once  without  the  place,  nobody  having  seen  him  there, 
they  might  not  dread  any  statement  he  could  make  ;  they 
would  deny  it,  and  show  its  absurdity." 

"Can  you  suggest  nothing  that  could  be  successful?"  she 
asked,  in  a  tone  of  despair. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "anything  that  will  cause  it  to  be  the  interest 
of  his  keepers,  to  let  him  come  out.  Whatever  Mr.  Bloodstone's 
wishes  are,  if  done,  might  withdraw  his  motive  for  holding 
your  father." 

Helen  started  up,  looked  at  Harry,  as  if  she  had  received  a 
blow.  "True,"  she  said,  "I  should  look  in  that  quarter.  I 
had  no  claim  upon  you,  Mr.  Stacey.  I  am  well  aware  of  that, ! 
and  should  have  addressed  myself  at  once  to  that  man.  It  is 
not  to  the  rejected,  but  to  the  accepted  lover,  that  I  should 
have  turned."  This  she  said  with  a  bitterness,  that  brought 
Harry  out  at  once. 

"Do  not  misunderstand  me,  Miss  Graham,"  he  said.  "You 
do  me  a  great  injustice,  when  you  suppose  that  my  actions,  or 
my  words,  have  been,  or  are,  the  result  of  disappointment  or 
of  envy  at  the  success  of  another.  Indeed  you  do,  Helen." 

She  saw  that  he  was  wounded,  and  hastened  to  apologize. 
"  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings,"  she  cried ;  "I  only 
spoke  the  truth,  when  I  said  that  to  Mr.  Bloodstone  I  ought 
to  have  gone  for  assistance  when  in  trouble.  But  what  more 
can  I  do,  than  I  am  ready  to  do?  I  have  told  him  that  I  will 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  313 

be  his  wife  the  very  instant  he  brings  my  father  to  me.  And 
I  will  do  it,  even  now,  Mr.  Stacey,  if  my  promise  shall  have 
the  effect  to  liberate  my  father.  I  will  do  it,  though  my  father 
should  object ;  I  will  do  it,  though  Mr.  Bloodstone  be  the  man 
who  has  imprisoned  him.  I  will  do  anything  that  will  enable 
me  to  obey  my  mother's  wishes,  though  I  should  plunge 
myself  into  a  life-time  of  grief  by  doing  so.  I  have  nothing 
left  but  my  poor  self.  Anything  that  is  not  wicked  I  will  do, 
or  suifer,  to  save  my  father.  More  my  mother  would  not 
wish  of  me;  would  not  permit  me." 

"  Miss  Graham,"  said  Harry,  "  I,  too,  would  do  almost  any 
thing  for  either  your  father  or  your  mother,  living,  or  to  fulfil 
their  dying  wishes  when  dead.  As  for  what  I  might  be  willing 
to  do  to  oblige  their  daughter,  it  would  not  be  becoming  in 
me  now  to  say.  I  have  done  all  that  I  can  think  that  would 
be  of  any  possible  advantage  to  your  father,  should  he  be  in 
the  mine.  Any  further  steps  on  the  part  of  the  legal  authori 
ties  would,  in  my  opinion,  simply  endanger  his  life,  and  could 
avail  him  nothing.  But  I  am  here,  not  to  throw  obstacles  in 
your  way,  but  to  assist  you,  — you  have  but  to  command,  and 
I  will  obey.  1  am  ready  to  perform  anything  you  suggest.  I 
will  do  it  blindly,  without  so  much  as  once  stopping  to  ex 
amine  it  by  any  rule  of  reason ;  only  speak,  and  you  shall  see 
how  I  will  obey  you." 

"  I  am  convinced  of  your  faithfulness  to  my  father,  and  to 
my  mother's  memory,  Mr.  Stacey;  and  I  do  not  doubt  your 
friendship  for  myself.  But  I  am  a  weak  woman.  I  can  only 
hope,  and  plead,  and  pray  ;  I  cannot  suggest  anything.  I  do 
not  know  what  to  suggest ;  I  am  powerless." 

"When  you  think  of  any  plan  for  your  father's  benefit, 
Miss  Graham,  will  you  let  me,  at  least,  assist  you  in  its  per 
formance  ?  " 

"  Yes,  when  I  think  of  anything.  But  how  can  I  ?  If  God 
in  his  wisdom  does  not  help  me,  what  can  I,  alone,  do  to  help 
myself?  I  can  only  wait  and  suffer." 

And  so,  after  two  or  three  hours  spent  in  suggesting  imprac 
ticable  or  impossible  plans,  only  made  to  be  rejected,  Harry 
withdrew,  leaving  Miss  Graham  sobbing  in  hopeless  anguish 
in  the  chair  by  the  window  where  he  had  found  her. 

As  he  went  out,  Charley  Hunter,  who  sat  bolt  upright  in  the 
hall,  like  a  sentinel  on  duty,  rose  up  and  bid  him  good-day  in  a 
cheerful  voice.  The  change  from  so  *nuch  grief  to  the  ordi 
nary  tone  of  passing  life,  startled  Harry  for  a  moment. 


314  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

"  Good-evening,  Charley,"  he  said,  kindly,  and  continued  his 
way  in  the  direction  of  his  own  room. 

The  boy  entered  No.  16  to  resume  his  book.  He  found 
Helen  more  than  usually  broken  down,  and,  attracted  by  her 
immoderate  grief,  he  approached  the  window. 

"  You  seem  to  be  in  great  trouble  to-day,  Miss  Helen." 
he  said,  kindly. 

"  Yes,  Charley,"  she  said,  in  the  midst  of  her  convulsive  sobs, 
"  I  am  in  very  great  trouble." 

"In  very  great  trouble?"  asked  the  boy,  eagerly.  "Did  I 
understand  you  rightly,  Miss  Graham?" 

"Yes,  I  am  in  very  great  trouble,  Charley.  In  such  great 
trouble,  that  I  do  not  feel  able  to  bear  up  against  it.  I  am 
indeed  in  very  great  trouble." 

She  had  not  looked  at  the  boy  while  she  spoke.  Her  face  had 
been  buried  in  her  hands,  and  her  answers  to  his  questions 
had  been  slowly  made,  and  at  intervals,  between  her  sobs, 
as  if  she  could  not  summon  strength  to  answer  fully  at  once. 

The  boy  stood  for  a  little  time  gazing  at  her  in  anxious 
eagerness,  and  with  evident  sympathy  for  so  much  sorrow. 
Observing  that  she  had  finished  with  her  answer  to  his  ques 
tion,  and  was  apparently  too  much  grieved  to  add  more,  he 
made  no  other  remark,  but  noiselessly  withdrew  from  the 
room,  closing  the  door  carefully  behind  him,  as  if  not  to  attract 
her  attention,  and  stole  away  out  of  the  house. 

The  sun  was  slowly  sinking  behind  the  Sierra  Nevadas,  throw 
ing  the  shadows  of  those  lofty  peaks  down  upon  the  valleys 
of  Washoe,  and  the  Truckee,  in  ghostly  figures,  fantastic  and 
changeable.  The  top  of  the  sugar-loaf  was  still  glistening,  as 
the  last  rays  lodged  upon  it,  while  the  distant  Humboldt  hills 
to  the  north-east,  were  dimming  down  beneath  the  gathering 
haze  of  approaching  evening.  It  was  late  in  the  day  for  the 
commencement  of  a  journey  in  that  wild  country,  where,  beyond 
the  line  of  inhabited  villages,  each  man  advanced  at  his  per 
sonal  peril,  taking  his  life  in  his  hand  as  he  went.  But  it  was 
at  this  hour,  and  while  Helen  Graham  still  sat  sobbing  at  her 
parlor  window,  that  a  horseman  dashed  at  full  speed  down  the 
Truckee  grade,  and,  as  he  passed  out  of  the  town,  headed  his 
way  straight  for  the  boundless  desert,  that  then  swallowed  up 
all  the  unknown  land  east  of  the  Washoe  country.  His  blanket 
and  sack  of  provisions  strapped  behind  him,  the  belt  abcut  his 
waist,  and  revolvers  at  his  side,  all  indicated  a  long  journey. 
His  speed  alone  was  so  great  as  to  suggest  either  that  he  bore 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  315 

the  overland  express,  or  that  his  journey  was  to  be  a  short  one. 
The  horseman,  however,  jingled  his  huge  Mexican  spurs,  and 
the  spirited  brown  steed  stretched  away  with  a  will  that  sent 
the  steam  flying  in  two  jets  from  his  distended  nostrils,  while 
his  broad  chest  soon  became  white  with  flakes  of  falling  foam. 
So  he  passed  down  the  narrow  shelf  cut  in  the  mountain  side 
to  the  valley,  dashing  over  the  Truckee  meadows  at  a  sweeping 
gallop,  nor  drew  rein  till  far  in  the  night  he  pulled  up  and 
demanded  hospitality  at  the  door  of  a  station  fifty  miles 
towards  Pyramid  lake.  The  pioneer,  hearing  English  spoken, 
arose  and  cautiously  drew  his  bolt  to  let  in  the  wayfarer.  And 
Charley  Hunter  and  his  steed  were  made  welcome  in  the  set 
tler's  cabin.  By  the  terms  of  the  lad's  employment,  when  Helen 
Graham  should  find  herself  in  very  great  trouble,  he  was  with 
out  delay  to  mount  the  brown  horse  at  the  stable,  and  carry  the 
word  to  Greathouse,  away  in  the  Indian  country.  He  had 
waited  from  week  to  week,  all  this  time  with  steady  patience, 
for  the  outcry  of  unbearable  grief  to  fall  from  the  lady's  lips. 
At  last  it  had  come,  and  the  faithful  messenger  had  bounded 
forth  upon  his  journey. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

JOSEPH    BOWERS,    OF    CALUMET   CREEK. 

JACK  GOWDY  came  back  two  days  after  the  affair  of  the 
habeas  corpus  had  been  attempted  and  failed,  and  heard  for 
the  first  time  what  an  important  part  he  had  been  playing. 
He  found  out,  greatly  to  his  delight,  that  he  was  credited  with 
having  originated  the  suspicion  against  Mr.  Bloodstone,  and 
with  instigating  and  procuring  the  writ  to  be  issued.  He 
was  so  proud  of  his  sudden  greatness,  that  he  stopped  oif  one 
trip,  sending  another  driver  in  his  place.  Then  he  put  on  an 
extra  six-shooter,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  streets  in  com 
pany  with  a  friend,  an  ox-teamster,  named  Joe  Bowers,  of 
Calumet  Creek,  hunting,  as  he  said,  for  the  man  that  thought 
he  had  done  anything  unbecoming  in  a  gentleman.  It  is 


316  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

scarcely  necessary  to  add  that,  though  he  searched  for  two  days 
with  great  diligence,  he  was  unable  to  find  any  such  person. 
He  took  occasion,  at  the  same  time,  to  send  word  by  his  friend 
the  ox-teamster  to  Mr.  Bloodstone,  that  he  should  be  in  town 
for  two  days,  and  that  if,  during  the  time,  he  should  fall  in  with 
that  gentleman,  he  should  make  it  his  duty  to  scalp  him  on  the 
spot.  We  may  also  mention  that  the  superintendent  kept 
very  close  within  doors  during  the  time  mentioned  in  Jack's* 
message,  and  did  not  meet  the  twain  in  his  walks.  Jack  ex 
plained  to  Harry  that  his  reasons  for  adopting  this  course  was 
in  order  to  smooth  down  any  opposition  or  ill-feeling  that  might 
otherwise  spring  up  about  the  habeas  corpus.  And  while 
Jack  remained  in  town,  it  is  certain  that  the  effect  of  his  action 
did  tend  to  smooth  matters,  to  an  amazing  degree.  Jack  now 
called  on  Helen  Graham,  for  the  first  time  since  her  mother's 
death.  He  had  brought  a  message  of  love  from  Blanche 
Mclver.  She  had  ridden  over  the  mountains  with  Jack  on  her 
way  home,  and  had  quite  captivated  him.  Next  to  Helen,  she 
was  unquestionably  the  finest  woman  in  the  world.  She  was 
just  the  sort  of  girl  he  always  liked.  It  turned  out  that  she 
had  sat  outside  with  him  all  the  way  over  the  mountains,  and 
had  driven  the  horses  up  the  Carson  grade. 

"  You  ought  to  see  her  hold  the  lines,  Miss  Helen  ! "  cried 
Jack,  in  raptures,  "  there  never  was  any  thing  like  it.  I  am  to  fetch 
her  back  again  when  she  comes.  She  won't  ride  with  anybody 
except  me,  miss." 

"When  is  she  coming  back?"  asked  Helen. 

"In  a  very  few  days,"  answered  Jack.     "She  says  she  can't 
bear  to  be  away  from  you  when  you  are  in  so  much  trouble. 
She  calls  you  her  Baby  and  says  she  must  be  with  you  all  the  * 
time.     And  I  don't  wonder  at  it,  miss,"  he  said  kindly,  when  he 
saw  the  tears  rush,  as  they  did  unbidden,  to  the  lady's  eyes. 

"  She  is  the  kindest  creature  in  the  world,"  said  Helen,  "and 
the  best.  I  love  her  dearly." 

"And  so  do  I,"  cried  Jack,  with  enthusiasm.  "I  don't  know 
which  I  love  the  best,  you  or  her.  But  I  think  I  have  known 
you  the  longest  and,  besides,  you  need  love  the  most,"  said 
Jack,  almost  ready  to  cry  in  sympathy  with  the  tears  that  he 
saw  glistening  upon  Helen's  long  lashes. 

"You  are  very  kind,  Jack.  I  shall  never  forget  your  good 
ness." 

This  last  remark  quite  settled  the  question  and  the  stage 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  317 

driver  began  to  blubber  outright.  He  had  been  standing  while 
all  this  had  been  said,  although  Helen  had  pressed  him  to  take  a 
seat. 

No,  he  was  in  a  fearful  hurry  and  could  not  stay  a  moment. 
But  now,  when  the  tears  began  to  run  down  his  nose,  she  con 
trived  to  get  him  into  a  chair,  where  he  sat  twisting  his  hat  in 
his  hands  and  protesting  positively  that  he  had  not  a  single 
minute  to  stay.  But  he  did  remain  a  half-hour,  and  then  an 
hour,  as  if  unable  to  go.  The  truth  was  that  he  had  come  for 
the  purpose  of  giving  or  lending,  in  some  manner,  he  did  not 
precisely  know  how,  to  Helen  the  five  hundred  dollars  that  he 
had  offered  once  before  to  Fogg,  the  landlord,  for  her  benefit, 
and  been  refused.  He  had  kept  the  money  faithfully  ever  since, 
declining  positively  to  attack  faro  while  it  was  in  his  posses 
sion. 

"  It  is  not  my  money,"  he  thought.  "  I  have  set  it  aside 
for  the  relief  of  a  distressed  lady.  And  no  gentleman  ever 
risks  other  people's  coin,  especially  when  those  other  people 
are  women." 

Such  being  the  state  of  the  case,  he  was  exceedingly  desirous 
of  delivering  the  money  into  her  own  custody,  so  that  he  would 
no.  longer  be  chargeable  with  its  safe-keeping. 

"When  I  give  it  to  her  I  can  take  a  chance  against  any  sort 
of  game  that  comes  in  my  way,  while  now  I  am  tied  up  hand 
and  foot." 

Jack  had  bolted  into  No.  16  with  a  set  speech  in  his  mouth, 
prepared  and  ready  to  deliver  it  with  his  money  to  the  young 
lady.  The  speech  consisted  of  an  account  of  an  imaginary  con 
versation  held  between  Mr.  Graham  and  himself,  in  which  that 
gentleman  had,  several  months  before,  at  the  suggestion  of  his 
own  good  heart,  lent  Jack,  at  a  moment  when  he  was  in  great 
need,  the  sum  of  five  hundred  dollars.  This  speech  would  not 
occupy  more  than  two  minutes,  he  was  quite  sure.  Indeed,  he 
had  left  Joe  Bowers,  an  old  friend  of  his  that  he  had  known  in 
Missouri,  at  the  door  of  the  hotel  to  wait  for  him,  not  above 
five  minutes  at  the  utmost.  But  now  an  hour  had  passed  away, 
and  still  Jack  sat  twisting  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  trying  vainly 
to  summon  up  courage  to  commence.  More  than  once  he  had 
drawn  in  his  breath  and  uttered  the  first  word  of  his  oration,  but 
could  get  no  farther.  Jack  had  prepared  his  speech  to  begin 
with  the  words,  — 

"  Miss  Graham !  your  father,  the  noblest  and  most  elegant 
gentleman  that  ever  walked  on  top  of  the  earth, — " 


318  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

From  this  it  was  to  continue  in  a  similar  strain  of  eloquent 
laudation  to  the  narrative  of  the  money  transaction  that  was 
supposed  to  have  taken  place  between  them  and  to  close  with 
a  brilliant  peroration,  in  which  Jack  was  to  lay  the  money  at  the 
afflicted  daughter's  feet  Several  times  he  got  as  far  as  to  pro 
nounce  the  words,  "  Miss  Graham,  — 

"What  is  it,  Jack?"  would  be  the  lady's  reply,  to  indicate 
that  she  had  been  attentive. 

But  the  rest  of  the  speech  died  in  his  throat 

"  Do  you  know  that  that  Cheatham  colt  of  mine  is  threatened 
with  a  spavin,  Miss  Graham?" 

"  No  ;  is  he,  indeed  ?  What  a  pity.  I  hope  you  will  be  able 
to  prevent  it." 

"  Yes ;  I  am  trying  the  only  remedy  that  I  know  of,  and  that 
is  mustang  liniment.  Joe  Bowers  is  waiting  for  me  down  at 
the  door  now,  to  go  and  look  at  him.  Joe  is  not  much  on 
horses,  but  when  it  comes  to  horned  cattle,  I  would  take  his 
judgment  against  any  man  that  walks  on  top  of  the  ground. 
He  is  great  on  oxen,  he  is." 

Here  Jack  got  up  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  hoping  to 
find  that  his  friend,  Mr.  Bowers,  had  abandoned  the  field  in 
despair  and  gone  away.  But  not  so.  He  still  walked  up  and 
down  as  patiently  as  if  following  a  team  of  his  favorite  beasts 
over  a  long  road.  It  was  evident  that  he  had  no  idea  that  the 
five  minutes  had  elapsed  or  was  even  in  a  great  part  consumed. 

"Damn  an  ox-driver,"  Jack  muttered  to  himself.  "He  has 
no  notion  of  time.  A  minute  is  all  the  same  to  him  as  a 
month.  He  would  not  stir  from  that  spot  in  a  year." 

Now  that  Jack  knew  that  his  friend  was  waiting  for  him 
below,  he  attributed  his  inability  to  deliver  his  speech  wholly* 
to  that  circumstance. 

"I  could  go  on  in  a  half  an  hour  longer,"  he  thought,  "but 
I  never  can  do  it  now  that  I  know  that  that  confounded  bush 
whacker  is  waiting  for  me  to  go  with  him." 

Jack  felt  a  strong  disposition  moving  him  to  shoot  at  his 
friend  from  the  window. 

"I  could  break  his  leg,"  he  thought,  "and  then  some  chai- 
itable  person  would  come  and  take  him  away  to  the  hospital. 
While  he  was  getting  well  I  could  tell  the  lady  all  about  the 
money,  and  persuade  her  to  take  it." 

While  this  energetic  plan  of  getting  rid,  temporarily,  of  his 
friend  was  being  resolved  in  Jack's  mind  as  he  looked  down 
from  the  window  at  him,  Helen  was  attracted  by  the  strange  fig- 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  319 

ure  of  the  ox-driver,  still  walking  back  and  forth  upon  the  side 
walk. 

Joe  Bowers  was  a  tall,  lank,  raw-boned  back-woodsman.  At 
least  three  inches  above  six  feet  in  stature,  he  was  dressed  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  give  the  most  ludicrous  effect  to  nis 
peculiar  figure.  His  hair  and  beard,  both  of  the  color  originally 
known  as  sandy,  were  so  mixed  with  dust  as  to  have  become 
of  a  decided  brick  color.  It  was  obvious  that  neither  scissors 
nor  razors  had  passed  over  either  hair  or  beard  for  many  years, 
and  even  the  presence  of  a  comb  since  that  remote  period  was 
a  matter  not  wholly  free  from  doubt.  His  hat  was  so  broad,  so 
worn,  and  so  slouched,  as  almost  to  conceal  the  long  hair  that  hung 
down  over  his  shoulders.  As  for  its  color,  it  was  the  same  as  that 
of  the  road  over  which  he  drove  his  oxen.  A  dusty  miner's  shirt, 
open  at  the  throat,  exposed  a  dusty  neck  and  breast,  while  a 
begrimed  belt  prevented  the  dusty  trousers  that  hung  about  his 
lank  legs  from  subsiding  quite  away  into  the  dusty  boots  that 
enclosed  them  in  a  friendly  and  dusty  embrace.  Even  the  six- 
shooter  that  hung  at  the  worn,  and  now  yellow  belt,  had  once 
been  polished  bright  enough,  but  now  the  dust  of  Washoe  had 
settled  upon  it  and  given  to  it  the  monotonous  color,  that  of 
brick-dust,  that  characterized  the  ox-teamster  from  head  to  foot. 

"Is  that  your  friend  Bowers?"  said  Helen,  trying  to  repress 
a  smile  at  the  queer  figure  the  ox-driver  presented. 

"Yes,"  answered  Jack,  "  that  is  Joe.  You  do  not  know  him, 
Miss  Graham.  1  wish  you  did.  Joe  Bowers  is  one  of  the  most 
elegant  gentlemen  that  walks  on  top  of  the  earth,  though  he  is 
at  times  a  little  slow." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  dust  that  gets  on  him,  Jack,  and  weighs 
him  down,"  suggested  Helen. 

"  No,  Miss  Graham ;  I  don't  think  that  has  much  to  do  with 
it,  though  he  has  certainly  been  rather  dusty  for  the  last  few 
years.  Joe  Bowers  is  slow  because  he  is  an  ox-driver,  and  it  is 
not  easy  to  get  any  very  high  rate  of  speed  out  of  a  gentleman 
who  follows  that  calling  for  a  livelihood.  You  can't  just  expect 
it,  rniss ;  oxen  make  a  slow  team.  And,  besides,  Joe  Bowers 
has  been  crossed  in  love.  Being  crossed  in  love,  Miss  Gra 
ham,  is  not  a  thing  calculated  to  put  much  steam  into  a  man ; 
indeed,  it  is  quite  wonderful  how  it  slows  him  down.  But, 
though  Joe  Bowers  is  slow  from  the  reasons  I  have  told  you  of, 
Miss  Graham,  a  finer  gentleman  never  cracked  whip  over  any 
sort  of  a  beast." 

"Where  was  he  crossed  in  love,  Jack  ?     In  this  country?" 


320  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"  No,  Miss  Graham,  it  was  back  home  in  Missouri.  He  was 
in  love  with  a  young  lady  of  the  name  of  'Liza,  and  she  lived 
on  the  North  Fork  of  the  South  Fork  of  Injin  Creek.  What 
her  other  name  was,  I  never  heard.  Joe  don't  talk  much  about 
it"now.  But  anyhow  they  were  engaged  to  be  married.  Joe, 
you  must  know,  is  a  very  high-toned  and  proud  gentleman 
for  an  ox-driver,  and  he  thought  that,  before  taking  a  wife,  he 
ought  to  try  and  make  himself  a  little  better  off.  As  it  was, 
he  had  nothing  excepitng  his  ox-team.  He  was  ambitious  and 
wanted  to  have  a  farm  of  his  own.  Now  mark,  Miss  Graham, 
what  comes  of  being  too  anxious  to  obtain  wealth.  It  was 
that  which  did  the  business  for  Joseph  Bowers.  He  left  his  old 
home  on  Calumet  Creek,  and  came  out  to  California  and  went 
to  work  hauling  quartz  rock  with  his  team  from  the  mines  to 
the  mills,  and  was  doing  very  well  at  that  business.  But  what 
was  going  on  back  at  home  all  of  this  time  ?  Have  you  any 
idea,  Miss  Graham  ?  " 

Helen  confessed  that  she  was  utterly  ignorant  upon  that 
point. 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you.  There  was  a  gentleman  lived  in  Joe's 
neighborhood  who  knew  this  lady  that  Joe  was  engaged  to 
marry.  This  gentleman  was  a  butcher  by  profession,  and  the 
institution  where  he  carried  on  his  business  was  near  to  the 
house  of  the  young  lady's  father.  In  fact,  I  believe  the  old 
codger  took  his  meat  of  this  gentleman.  Well,  in  that  way,  he 
got  acquainted  with  this  lady  of  Joe's,  and  the  first  thing,  you 
know,  he  was  dead  in  love  with  her  and  wanting  to  marry  her. 
To  make  a  long  story  short,  from  what  I  can  find  out,  he  offered 
himself  to  that  lady  and  she  accepted  him,  fogetting  all  about  my 
friend  there,  and  married  him  and  left  poor  Joe  out  in  the  cold.  \ 
That  is  the  whole  story.  Ike  Bowers,  Joe's  brother,  wrote  to 
him  about  it  when  all  was  over  and  told  the  sad  news.  Joe 
has  never  been  as  lively  since  he  heard  of  the  way  Eliza  had 
treated  him,  though  he  was  never  a  very  lively  man.  Ox- 
drivers  never  are.  But  this  cross  in  love,  I  think,  lowered  his 
speed  considerably.  It  slowed  him  down.  He  is  very  slow 
now.  He  can't  go  above  three  miles  in  four  hours  since  he 
heard  of  it ;  and  he  has  never  cut  his  hair  or  brushed  his  clothes 
since,  and  I  don't  think  he  ever  will." 

Helen  thought  the  story  a  very  sad  one,  and  looked  pityingly 
out  of  the  window  at  the  unfortunate  victim  of  a  hopeless  and 
unrequited  love.  Having  finished  the  story,  Jack  found  himself 
no  nearer  the  point  of  offering  Helen  the  money  than  before. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  321 

His  courage  quite  left  him  and  he  gave  up  the  attempt  in 
despair.  He  took  his  leave  and  joined  Joe  Bowers,  not  feeling 
very  pleasantly  towards  that  gentleman,  whose  patient  waiting 
in  the  street  he  connected  with  his  failure. 

"I  can't  summon  courage  to  offer  money  to  that  lady,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  walked  away,  <;  though  I  much  fear  she 
needs  it.  I  march  up  boldly  enough  till  I  meet  her  face  to 
face,  but  she  is  so  tall  and  so  pale,  and  she  looks  so  grand  in 
her  black  dress,  that  I  feel  that  money  is  not  good  enough  for 
her,  and  that  it  would  be  an  act  of  impertinence  to  offer  it."  So 
he  took  his  friend,  Joe  Bowers,  and  they  went  away  together  to 
the  Graham  mine  to  survey  the  outside  of  the  premises.  Jack 
had,  without  difficulty,  convinced  the  ox-driver  that  Mr.  Gra 
ham  was  imprisoned  in  the  mine.  He  had  done  this  by  simply 
telling  him  that  such  was  the  fact.  Mr.  Bowers  had  not  required 
an  additional  proof. 

It  was  now  within  two  days  of  the  time  of  the  trial,  and  Harry 
was  still  without  any  reliable  witness  to  prove  the  original  settle 
ment  and  continued  possession  of  Mr.  Graham.  True,  he  would 
not  be  called  upon  to  prove  these  facts  until  after  the  plaintiffs 
should  have  furnished  evidence  of  a  settlement  and  possession  by 
their  venders,  the  brothers  Bosh.  But  that  they  would  prove 
this  by  a  swarm  of  perjured  witnesses  was  a  matter  of  absolute 
certainty.  To  meet  this  he  had  been  able  so  far  to  find  no 
counter  evidence  whatever.  In  despair  he  went  once  more  to 
find  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone.  "  I  will  make  a  final  appeal  to 
him,"  said  he,  "  and  try  to  prevail  upon  him  to  aid  me  in  saving 
Mr.  Graham's  rights."  To  his  amazement,  the  superintendent 
had  that  morning  gone  away  to  San  Francisco  to  be  absent  a  ^ 
month.  Harry  was  thunderstruck.  It  was  now  certain  that  a 
conspiracy  existed  to  seize  Mr.  Graham's  mine  under  color  of 
the  law.  Another  idea  struck  him.  "  The  Pactolus  mine  is  at 
tacked  by  a  similar  claim,  growing*  in  fact,  out  of  the  same 
alleged  settlement  of  one  or  both  of  the  Bosh  brothers."  He 
had  seen  Mr.  Withergreen  the  day  before  and  conversed  with 
him  about  the  facts.  He  must  know  something  about  the 
history  of  Mr.  Graham's  rights,  as  the  two  mines  were  side  by  side. 
He  hurried  down  to  the  office  of  the  Pactolus  Company,  and 
inquired  for  the  president.  He  had  gone  to  San  Francisco  I/ 
that  very  morning  for  an  indefinite  period.  No  work  was  being 
done  at  the  mine,  and  all  the  people  had  been  discharged,  ex- 


322  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

cept  a  single  watchman.  Harry  talked  with  the  man,  but  he 
was  a  stranger,  having  come  to  the  Territory  within  the  month, 
and  knew  nothing  of  titles  or  early  settlements. 

The  young  lawyer  was  now  at  his  wit's  end.  "I  cannot  ex 
pect  to  successfully  defend  the  suit,"  he  said,  "  but  I  will  at 
tend  and  do  all  I  can  to  impede  their  progress.'1' 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

THE    SKY    IS    MORE    OVERCAST. 

EACH  day  that  passed  appeared  to  add  to  the  gloom  that 
hung  like  a  dark  cloud  before  the  eyes  of  Helen  Graham.  She 
could  see  no  way  to  escape  from  the  tide  of  troubles  that  ap 
peared  rising  higher  and  higher,  till  now  it  threatened  to  swallow 
her  up.  Enoch  Bloodstone,  since  her  mother's  death,  had 
again  resumed  his  visits ;  calling  at  least  once  in  each  day,  and 
remaining  with  her  half  an  hour.  When  this  visit  had  been 
made  and  the  man  was  gone,  she  breathed  more  freely  for  a 
time  ;  but  soon  the  consciousness  that  the  period  for  a  like 
visit  was  slowly  swinging  around,  commenced  again  wearing 
upon  her  drooping  spirits.  For  some  time  after  the  funeral  he 
did  not  refer  to  the  marriage.  Helen  had  been  living  in  per 
petual  dread  of  this.  At  each  visit  her  only  hope  was  that  it* 
might  not  be  referred  to,  at  least  for  that  time.  But  one  day 
he  sat  longer  than  usual,  and  it  turned  out  as  Helen  dreaded, 
that  it  was  to  bring  up  the* hateful  subject. 

"  I  hope  you  have  not  forgotten  your  promise.  Miss  Graham," 
he  said,  with  the  tone  of  a  man  who  reminds  his  butcher  of  an 
order  given  for  a  joint  for  dinner.  "True,  you  stipulated  for  the 
presence  and  consent  of  your  father ;  but  it  is  not  my  fault  that 
he  is  away." 

Helen  felt  herself  too  much  in  his  power  to  deny  her  engage 
ment  or  to  attempt  to  avoid  it.  She  would  gladly  have  married 
the  man  if  by  doing  so  she  could  aid  her  father  or  fetch  him 
back  in  safety.  She  could  not  tell  him  of  her  mother's  fancy, 
that  he  was  the  cause  of  her  father's  absence.  "If  this  man 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  323 

suspects  what  is  in  my  mind  he  may  go  and  murder  my  poor 
father,  and  so  I  may  be  the  cause  of  his  death." 

"  No,  I  have  not  forgotten  it,  Mr.  Bloodstone,"  she  answered. 
"  I  did  promise  to  become  your  wife,  and  have  no  disposition  to 
evade  its  performance.  You  cannot  ask  me  to  marry  you  while 
my  father's  fate  is  in  so  much  doubt.  But  I  will  do  so  at  any 
moment,  Mr.  Bloodstone,  thatv  he  is  restored  to  his  home. 
Bring  him  back  to  me,  and  bring  with  you  a  clergyman  or  an 
officer,  and  I  will  go  away  your  wife  as  soon  after  as  the  mar 
riage  service  can  be  celebrated.  Indeed,''  she  cried,  "  I  swear 
by  my  hopes  for  heaven  that  I  will  do  it !  I  will  marry  you, 
Mr.  Bloodstone,  if  you  fetch  him  back,  with  or  without  his  con 
sent  !  I  will  marry  you  though  he  stands  up  before  the  whole 
world  and  forbids  the  bans  ! " 

Poor  Helen  said  this  in  the  earnestness  of  her  heart,  hoping 
to  tempt  the  man  to  yield  up  the  prisoner  that  each  day  she  was 
becoming  more  confident  he  held.  It  was  as  one  offers  a  re 
ward  for  the  return  of  stolen  goods ;  so  much  to  be  paid,  and 
no  questions  asked.  But  she  dared  say  no  more,  lest  he  should 
suspect  that  which  was  in  her  mind. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  coming  to  your  senses  so  rapidly,"  said 
Mr.  Bloodstone.  "  I  have  resolved  to  marry  you,  Miss  Gra 
ham,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  Helen  thought  had  become  more 
hard  and  odious  than  ever.  "  I  resolved  to  do  it  almost  the 
first  time  I  ever  saw  you.  In  making  that  resolution,  I  think  I 
paid  you  a  high  compliment.  A  man  with  such  a  fortune  as  I 
have  don't  usually  go  so  much  out  of  his  way  to  marry  any  girl. 
They  generally  come  to  him.  But  you  are  the  finest  woman  in 
the  country,  and  I  tell  you,  frankly,  that  is  the  reason  why  I  am 
going  to  marry  you.  I  shall  be  very  proud  of  you,  as  any  man 
would  be  who  had  worked  as  hard  and  as  long  to  carry  a  point 
as  I  have,  in  courting  you.  Besides,  any  man  would  be  proud 
of  having  the  handsomest  wife  in  the  country.  As  for  your 
loving  me,  I  am  quite  sure  you  will  come  to  that  before  we  have 
been  married  very  long.  Don't  you  think  so,  my  beauty  ?  " 

Helen  burst  into  tears.  He  had,  by  this  speech,  shown  her 
the  condition  of  utter  helplessness  to  which  she  had  been 
brought  more  plainly  than  it  had  ever  appeared  before. 

"  I  shall  pray  God  to  give  me  strength  to  do  my  duty,"  she 
answered,  with  a  meekness  to  which  Enoch  Bloodstone  had 
never  believed  she  could  be  brought. 

"Splendid,  my  charmer!"  he  cried,  "we  are  getting  on 
finely.  We  will  be  a  happy  husband  and  wife,  I  am  quite  sure, 


824  ROBERT  GREATHOUSR. 

one  of  these  days.  When  I  come  again,"  he  said,  "I  shall 
talk  with  you  more  plainly  about  fixing  the  time.  I  have  never 
had  any  serious  doubt  ^about  your  coming  around  to  my  views. 
It  is  satisfactory  to  find  that  you  know  upon  which  side  your  bread 
is  buttered  jy>,'  well  as  any  of  your  sex.  Girls  don't  kick  over  a 
fellow  with  plenfy  of  coin  in  his  pocket  these  times,  I  can  tell 
you.  Good-morning,  Miss  Graham.  I  shall  be  back  to  see 
you  again  before/very  long,  and  then  we  will  talk  business." 

When  he  was  gone,  Helen  fell  upon  her  knees  and  prayed 
for  endurance,  for  aid  from  God,  to  enable  her  to  stand  up  and 
still  march  under  her  burthen  ;  for  it  was  becoming  too  heavy 
for  her  strength  to  bear.  She  prayed  that  she  might  do  noth 
ing,  that  she  had  done  nothing  to  add  to  the  perils  of  the  pris 
oner  ;  for  now  she  no ,  longer  doubted  where  her  father  was. 
Bloodstone's  manner  had  too  plainly  spoken  to  her  heart  to  let 
her  mistake  the  truth. 

"  He  has  him  fast  in  his  power,  and  will  not  release  him  till 
I  first  become  his  wife.  O  God  !  give  me  strength  to  do  my 
duty.  Soften  the  heart  of  this  wicked,  cruel  man,  and  bring 
my  poor  father  back  to  life  again." 

Then  she  prayed  to  her  mother,  whose  gentle  spirit,  she  was 
sure,  still  hovered  over  her. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  encourage  and  strengthen  your  poor  Baby, 
and  help  her  to  do  her  duty.  Show  her  how  to  obey  your  last 
sacred  wishes." 

Siie  rose  up,  feeling  relieved  in  her  mind. 

"My  father  is  living,"  she  thought,  "  and  the  price  of  his  re 
turn  is  to  be  my  hand.  I  am  ready  „  ~ay  the  forfeit." 

The  black  curtain  that  had  shut  out  her  bright  hopes  had 
been  so  long  before  her  eyes  that  she  was  growing  accustomed 
to  it,  as  one  gets  used  to  a  dark  room.  The  fairy  isle  had  long 
ceased  to  haunt  even  her  slumbers.  It  no  longer  in  her 
dreams  drifted  invitingly  towards  her,  floating  softly  upon  the 
bosom  of  the  lake.  Despair  had  settled  in  her  heart,  and  was 
now  quite  at  home  there. 

Two  days  of  agony  passed  away,  during  which  ,:h  tap  at 
the  door  filled  her  with  terror,  lest  it  should  open  to  admit 
Bloodstone,  perhaps  accompanied  by  a  priest.  But  he  did  not 
come. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  she  was  start"  ,d  by  a  visit 
from  Henry  Stacey.  Of  late,  his  anxiety  about  the  approach 
ing  trial  had  been  so  great  that  he  could  scarcely  spare  a  mo 
ment  from  it. 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  325 

The  young  man  was  much  excited  when  he  entered  No.  16. 
Everything  was  going  against  him.  .  Helen  asked  him  what  new 
disaster  had  burst  upon  their  falling  fortunes. 

She  had  never  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  the  lawsuit ; 
that  was  a  matter  of  no  consequence.  The  loss  of  the  mine, 
at  any  moment,  would,  to  her,  have  appeared  a  positive  God 
send.  The  mine  had  been  the  prolific  source  of  all  their  mis 
fortunes.  It  had  ruined  her  father,  had  killed  her  mother. 
Its  very  name  never  failed  to  call  up  a  shudder  that  ran 
through  her  frame,  leaving  her  broken  and  dispirited.  So  it 
had  been,  even  more  decidedly,  with  her  mother. 

When  Henry  told  her  of  the  difficulty  that  he  had  met  with 
in  obtaining  the  necessary  proofs  to  sustain  her  father's  rights, 
she  listened  with  careless  indifference,  and  scarcely  made  an 
effort  to  reply. 

"Why  should  he  occupy  his  time  in  fighting  over  the  horrid 
mine  ?  "  as  last  she  asked. 

"  Because  it  is  my  duty  to  do  it,"  he  answered. 

"  That  is  certainly  a  sufficient  reason,  if  such  be  the  fact," 
she  said,  listlessly.  "  But  when  you  have  done  your  duty  you 
can  be  expected  to  do  no  more.  It  is  not  your  fault  if  you 
cannot  find  witnesses." 

"No,  indeed  it  is  not,"  cried  the  young  man.  "Yesterday 
I  went  once  more  to  see  Mr.  Bloodstone,  and  to  invoke  his 
aid,  and  —  would  you  believe  it  ?  —  at  such  a  time  he  has 
gone  away  to  San  Francisco  for  a  fortnight,  or  even  a  month, 
some  say." 

"  Gone  to  San  Frai;  .,.,00  !  "  cried  Helen,  now  all  interest. 
"  Has  Bloodstone  gone  away  to  San  Francisco  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Harry,  "he  left  yesterday  morning." 

Helen  burst  into  tears. 

"  Now,  indeed,"  she  sobbed,  "  rny  poor  father  is  lost.  The 
men  left  in  charge  of-  'the  mine  will  let  him  perish." 

Harry  tried  to  reassure  her  as  well  as  he  could,  but  in 
vain. 

"While  Bloodstone  was  here,"  she  said,  "there  was  hope. 
Now  who  is  to  give  him  food  and  drink  in  his  horrid  dun 
geon?" 

"If  he  L  'n  the  mine,  Miss   Graham,"  urged  the  young  raw- ' 
yer,  "  then  the  men  left  in  the  place  are  in  the  secret,  depend 
upon  it,  and  they  will  do  all  that  Mr.  Bloodstone  would  have 
done." ' 

"  Mr.  Stacey,"  at  last  asked  Helen,  when  Harry  had  urged 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

this  view  of  the  case  upon  her  for  a  long  time,  without  success, 
looking  at  him  earnestly,  "do  you  believe  that  my  father  is  in 
that  mine  ?" 

Harry  was  staggered  by  the  directness  of  the  question. 

"Tell  me  the  truth,"  she  insisted,  seeing  him  hesitate. 

"  Not  fully,"  at  last  he  answered,  "  though  I  swear  to  you. 
Miss  Graham,  that  all  of  my  conduct  in  search  of  him  haf 
been  based  upon  the  theory  that  he  is  there.  I  could  have 
done  no  more  than  I  have  done,  had  I  known  positively  thai 
he  was  in  the  mine,  an  unlawful  prisoner." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?"  she  asked,  almost  sternly.  "If 
you  knew  your  own  father  was  in  that  mine,  do  you  think  you 
could  have  done  no  more  than  you  have  done  ?  " 

Harry  hesitated,  and  she  went  on,  — 

"Would  you  not  have  had  a  thousand  men  at  the  door  of 
the  place  to  rescue  him  within  an  hour?" 

Henry  wished  to  tell  the  truth,  so  he  deliberated. 

"No,"  said  he,  ""no  force  could  reach  him  before  the  men 
who  hold  him  could  have  time  to  take  the  life  of  the  sole  wit 
ness  to  their  crimes.  I  could  have  done  no  more  than  I  have, 
I  swear  to  you,  even  had  I  believed  that  my  own  father  was 
there  imprisoned." 

Helen  asked  no  more  questions,  but  continued  to  sob. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  I  believe  my  grief 
has  made  me  selfish.  If  you  have  done  all  that  you  can  do,  I 
ought  to  be  satisfied,  though  your  reason  has  not  been  con 
vinced  by  what  appeared  to  my  weak,  bewildered  brain,  proof 
as  strong  as  holy  writ." 

"You  feel  convinced  that  your  father  is  in  the  mine,  Miss 
Graham  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  Mr.  Stacey.  I  have  not  the  faintest 
doubt." 

"Then,  indeed,"  he  said,  "I  can  understand  the  depth  of 
your  grief.  I  have  not  thought  that  he  was  there,  but,  if  you 
will  believe  me,  upon  the  honor  of  a  man,  I  have  done  all  that 
I  could  do,  acting  loyally  upon  the  theory  that  he  was  there.  I 
have  tried  to  find  him  and  release  him  ;  failing  in  that,  I  have 
endeavored  not  to  add  to  his  perils." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Stacey.  I  am  satisfied,  and  shall  always 
feel  grateful  to  you  for  your  kindness.  I  have  never  felt  so  de 
jected  as  now,  for  I  believe,  not  only  that  my  father  is  de 
tained  in  the  mine,  but  that  now  his  danger  is  greatly  increased 
by  the  absence  of  Mr.  Bloodstone." 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  3'21 

Harry  could  say  no  more   than  he  had  said,  and  so  went 
away. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE    CLOUDS    BEGIN   TO    LIFT 

THE  lady  flung  herself  into  the  chair  by  the  window,"  but  not 
now  to  look  up  the  street,  as  if  to  see  her  father  coming.  The 
casket  had  been  so  rudely  racked,  that  even  hope  had  been 
expelled  from  its  place  at  the  bottom. 

"My  father  will  die,"  cried  Helen,  "and  I  shall  not  know 
it.  Yet  will  Enoch  Bloodstone  come  back  and  demand  his 
prey." 

For  while  her  father's  fate  was  still  in  doubt,  the  girl  felt  too 
surely  that,  resolve  as  she  might,  still  the  man  could  make  his 
own  terms. 

"  Should  he  choose  to  exercise  his  power  by  threatening,  or 
by  making  allusive  promises,  what  could  I  do  ?  I  must  yield, 
or  I  may  destroy  my  father  without  knowing  it." 

While  she  sat  resting  her  head  on  the  window  sill,  —  not  in 
tears,  for  the  fountains  were  dry  from  excessive  use,  —  she 
heard  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door. 

"  It  was  so  soft  that  it  must  be  a  child,"  she  thought.  Some 
children  had  been  playing  in  the  hall  during  the  afternoon.  "  It 
is  one  of  these  little  ones  paying  me  a  visit." 

"Come  in,"  she  said. 

But  the  door  did  not  open. 

She  waited.  "The  little  fellow  has  made  a  mistake,  and 
will  go  on." 

But  it  did  not,  and  after  a  time  a  second  tap  faintly  invaded 
the  room.  Helen  arose  and  walked  to  the  door,  and  threw  it 
open.  She  started  back  with  surprise.  Instead  of  the  child 
she  expected  to  find  demanding  admission,  a  tall  man  stood  in 
the  "hall,  holding  his  hat  respectfully  in  his  hand.  His  long 
beard  and  hair  were  shaggy  and  uncombed,  his  dress  was  soiled 
and  showed  the  marks  of  travel. 


328  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

Helen  did  not  recognize  him  at  first,  but  his  voice,  when  he 
spoke,  at  once  told  her  who  he  was. 

"  Good  evening,  Colonel  Greathouse,"  she  said,  extending 
her  hand  to  him. 

Greathouse  took  the  lady's  hand  and  returned  her  salutation. 

She  invited  him  to  enter  the  room,  as  she  had  always  done, 
scarcely  expecting  that  he  would  comply ;  but  he  did  so,  and 
accepted  the  seat  which  she  pointed  out  to  him.  But,  though 
sitting  by  her  invitation  in  the  lady's  presence,  he  did  not  ap 
pear  at  ease. 

This  she  observed,  and  tried  to  overcome  his  evident  bash- 
fulness.  To  do  this,  she  questioned  him  concerning  his  ad 
ventures,  in  the  expedition  against  the  savages,  from  which  she 
knew  he  had  just  returned. 

Greathouse  answered  with  a  modesty  that  was  more  the 
manner  of  a  girl  than  of  a  man.  It  was  plain  that  the  lady 
was  an  object  more  formidable  to  him  than  a  band  of  hostile 
Indians  would  have  been.  He  had  come  in  to  ask  about  her 
self,  and  not  to  relate  his  own  adventures,  but  he  did  not  know 
how  to  begin  the  inquiry.  At  last,  in  a  hesitating  manner  and 
in  a  low  voice,  he  spoke. 

"  I  have  heard,  Miss  Graham,  some  rumors  concerning  the 
afflictions  that  have  befallen  you,  and  though  it  may  not  be 
come  me  to  touch  upon  a  matter  so  delicate  as  that  of  a 
daughter's  grief,  especially  when  it  cannot  be  removed,  yet  I 
feel  that  a  kind  word  from  even  one  not  better  known  to  you 
than  myself,  might  not  be  taken  as  impertinent.  I  have  re 
cently  arrived  from  the  Plains ;  indeed,  I  have  not  been  in  the 
house  above  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  I  do  not  know  all  that  has 
occurred,  but  have  heard  enough  to  satisfy  me  that  there  has 
been  much  to  grieve  you,  and  that  you  have  suffered  enough 
to  entitle  you  to  the  sympathy  and  the  aid  of  every  gentleman 
with  whom  you  meet,  whether  he  be  an  intimate  friend  or  only 
a  casual  acquaintance,  like  myself." 

This  had  not  been  said  in  a  rapid,  off-hand  manner,  as  we 
have  written  it,  but  at  intervals,  and  with  no  little  hesitation  ; 
the  speaker  appearing  to  feel  his  way  as  he  advanced.  But  it 
was  made  without  interruption  from  the  lady,  save  such  effect 
as  her  sobs,  which  commenced  almost  with  his  first  reference 
to  the  subject,  may  have  produced.  Observing  no  disposition 
on  her  part  to  speak,  he  continued,  — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Graham,  if  my  offer  of  condolence 


ROBER1    GREATHOUSE.  329 

and  aid  has  only  added  to  your  grief,  instead  of  assuaging  it, 
as  I  intended  it  and  hoped  it  would  do." 

"  Do  not  believe  that  it  has  such  an  effect,  Colonel  Great- 
house,"  said  Helen,  trying  to  dry  her  eyes^with  her  handker 
chief.  "  It  is  the  voice  of  kindness  that  has'brought  fresh  tears 
to  my  eyes,  when  sorrow  could  no  longer  find  them.  It  is 
your  sympathy  alone  that  has  affected  me." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Graham,  for  your  kindness  in  saying  so. 
I  have  heard  of  the  sad  death  of  your  mother,  but  I  will  not 
speak  of  that.  Your  own  heart  will,  I  have  no  doubt,  find,  in 
remembering  her  goodness  when  living,  quite  all  of  the  comfort 
that  can  ever  be  obtained  by  way  of  reconciling  itself  to  such  a 
loss.  But  if  report  speaks  the  truth,  you  have  other  matters 
upon  your  mind,  which,  I  fear,  may  be  more  difficult  to  bear  up 
against,  than  even  death  itself." 

Helen  only  answered  by  continued  tears. 

"  Are  my  fears  without  foundation,  Miss  Graham  ?  " 

Again  she  raised  her  head  and  made  an  effort  to  be  calm. 

"  You  have  been  told  only  the  truth,  Colonel  Greathouse. 
I  am,  indeed,  the  victim  of  very  great  misfortunes.  I  am  sur 
rounded  with  a  maze  of  troubles,  that  I  am  unable  to  even  see 
my  way  to  escape  from." 

"  Would  it  be  too  much  to  ask  you  the  nature  of  the  troubles 
that  surround  you,  Miss  Graham  ?  " 

"  I  scarcely  feel,  Colonel  Greathouse,  that  I  can  safely  tell 
any  one  of  the  condition  in  which  I  and  those  whom  I  love 
have  been  placed  by  a  series  of  unfortunate  events  that  have 
been  for  a  long  time  going  on,  and  are  still  going  on.  It  is 
not  from  any  want  of  faith  in  you  that  I  say  this,  but  I  am  so 
situated  that  a  false  step,  an  unfortunate  word  from  me,  may 
plunge  not  only  myself,  —  for  that  I  would  care  nothing,  —  but 
those  near  and  dear  to  me,  still  deeper  into  disasters  that  I 
dare  not  even  hint  the  nature  of,  to  you  or  to  any  one." 

Greathouse  deliberated  some  time,  without  speaking. 

"  I  came  here  with  the  hope  that  I  might  be  of  service  to 
you  in  some  way ;  I  did  not  come  to  add  to  your  troubles.  If 
I  cannot  benefit  you,  I  will  not  force  upon  you  services  not 
needed,  and  which  might  be  injurious." 

Though  he  spoke  these  words  with  an  effort  to  appear  satis 
fied  with  the  refusal  of  his  offer,  his  tone  was  not  wholly  suc 
cessful. 

Helen  detected  the  disappointment  that  was  but  partially 
concealed. 


330  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"  I  trust  that  you  will  forgive  me,  Colonel  Greathouse,  and 
not  believe  that  I  reject  your  offer  from  any  doubt  of  your  zeal. 
I  only  doubt  the  power  of  any  human  being  to  avail  me  now. 
One  well-meant  effort  has  already  been  made  in  my  service, 
and  has  failed,  leaving  me  in  a  worse  position  than  before. 
Another  might  ruin  all." 

"  Miss  Graham,  I  have  this  moment  arrived  from  the  Indian 
country,  with  but  little,  if  any,  notion  of  the  cause  of  your  grief; 
I  have  heard  that  you  are  in  very  great  trouble,  that  is  all.  I 
do  not  know  the  extent  or  character  of  those  troubles.  I  have 
no  idea  how  great  an  undertaking  your  rescue  from  them  may 
be;  whether  it  is  a  work  within  the  range  of  man's  power,  01 
whether  God  alone  can  compass  it.  But  if  you  will  pardon  me, 
I  will  tell  you  by  what  right  I  offer  my  arm  in  your  service." 

Helen  had  resumed  her  attitude  of  dejection,  with  her  face  in 
her  handkerchief,  and  not  answering  with  an  objection,  Great- 
house  went  on. 

"  I  have  lived  all  my  life  upon  the  border,  amongst  wild  and 
desperate  men.  It  may  have  been  a  hard  fate  that  threw  rne 
there,  but  I  never  felt  it  to  be  so,  or  at  least,  not  till  lately.  I 
grew  up  amongst  these  men  as  wild  and  as  desperate  as  the 
wildest  white  man  that  ever  lived  upon  the  Texan  frontier. 
We  made  our  own  laws  and  carried  them  out  ourselves.  Our 
rights  were  fought  for,  and  our  wrongs  were  remedied  on  the 
spot,  and  by  our  own  hands.  This  was  our  civilization.  Its 
justice  or  its  policy  as  a  system  I  never  heard  brought  into 
question,  till  long  after  I  was  a  man  in  years  and  stature. 

"  A  few  months  ago  I  saw  you,  and  found  that  1  had  a  heart. 
Within  a  week,  I  had  learned  what  it  was  to  have  a  hopeless , 
love.  The  first,  and  natural  impulse  of  a  man  so  situated,  is  to  \ 
declare  his  passion,  and  to  offer  himself,  such  as  he  is,  his  for 
tunes  and  his  future,  to  the  lady.  I  did  not  do  this,  as  you 
know.  For  the  first  time  I  examined  and  saw  myself  by  a 
new  light,  reflected  upon  my  heart  from  your  eyes.  I  found 
that  my  life  had  been  a  long  and  fearful  mistake ;  that  my  past 
had  been  a  career  of  violence  and  blood  ;  and  that  my  future 
could  only  be  the  natural  sequel  to  such  a  commencement ; 
that  the  time  of  learning  the  arts  and  the  customs  of  peace, 
and  the  civilization  which  you  recognize,  had  passed  away,  and 
that  I  was  but  the  gnarled  and  twisted  trunk  of  a  dead  tree, 
that  the  lightning  of  barbarism  had  scorched  and  destroyed.  I 
lingered  around  you  day  after  day,  my  heart  yearning  for  the 
unspeakable  joy  that  a  smile  from  you  always  gave  to  it.  But 


I  u  -N  -1 

\^ 

ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  331 

time  only  added  to  the  absolute  certainty  that  I  must  live  and 
die  without  hope.  I  resolved  to  tear  myself  away  from  you. 
The  news  of  the  great  war  that  is  going  on  had  come  to  us 
across  the  land.  I  knew  nothing  of  the  merits  of  the  struggle  ; 
many  who  were  around  me  said  that  the  South  was  striving  to 
destroy  the  country  it  could  no  longer  govern ;  that  it  did  this  in 
order  to  perpetuate  that  baneful  system  of  human  slavery,  which 
had  made  ignorance  and  hateful  prejudice  the  greatest  pow 
ers  in  the  land,  and  sent  them  stalking  up  and  down  the 
country,  putting  down  and  sweeping  away  all  before  them.  I 
did  not  think  nor  care  for  this ;  whether  it  was  true  or  false  no 
longer  concerned  me.  The  sick  man  cannot  be  expected  to 
heal  himself.  I  knew  that  my  education  did  not  enable  me  to 
cope  in  civilized  struggles  with  the  simplest  graduate  of  the 
Northern  village  school.  I  knew  that  my  habits  were  the  hab 
its  of  men  who  pay  but  little  respect  to  the  laws  of  the  land, 
and  who  carry  on  their  projects  in  its  face  by  violence  and  pri 
vate  force.  It  might  be  true  that  the  peculiar  system  was  res 
ponsible  for  my  habits  and  my  conduct.  That  question  was 
not  for  me  to  decide.  Such  as  I  was,  I  was  satisfied  with.  The 
people  who  had  made  me  so  were  my  own  people,  and  all 
they  had  done  for  themselves  they  had  done  for  me.  My  kin 
dred  were  now  in  trouble  and  claimed  my  aid ;  my  heart  was 
with  them.  1  only  knew  that  they  were  struggling  against  over 
whelming  odds ;  that  the  land  of  my  childhood  was  invaded 
by  the  stranger;  that  the  iron  heel  of  the  Northern  soldier, 
pressed  and  trampled  upon  the  green  spots  of  my  infancy.  I 
cared  nothing  for  the  causes  of  the  war ;  it  was  enough  that 
a  wail  of  anguish  and  despair  came  up  from  the  widows  and 
orphans  of  my  kindred  and  my  friends.  Before  I  saw  you,  I 
had  thought  of  all  this.  When  I  first  met  you,  I  had  been  to 
California  to  sell  my  property  before  going  away  to  join  the 
Confederate  army.  Your  arrival  detained  me  for  a  time.  But 
when  the  hopelessness  of  my  suit  grew  and  settled  upon  me,  I 
again  renewed  my  plans.  I  was  upon  the  point  of  departing, 
when  something  which  I  saw  convinced  me  that  your  course 
was  not  to  be  free  from  cares  and  troubles.  I  believed  that  the 
time  was  not  distant  when  you  would  be  in  need  of  assistance, 
that  some  resolute  heart  and  steady  arm  could  alone  give  you. 
Miss  Graham,  I  remained  in  the  Territory.  I  postponed  my  de 
parture  to  the  place  whither  I  believe  my  duty  called  me,  in 
the  ranks  of  my  people's  defenders,  in  order  to  be  at  your  side 
when  your  hour  of  extreme  peril  should  come.  I  am  here  now, 


332  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

instead  of  being  upon  the  Rio  Grande,  or  the  Mississippi,  be 
cause  of  that  circumstance  alone.  If  you  dismiss  me,  it  will  be 
but  to  tell  me  to  go  forward  upon  my  journey  to  that  land.  If 
you  detain  me,  it  will  be  to  serve  you  to  the  extent  of  my 
power,  and  when  you  shall  need  me  no  longer,  to  turn  my  face 
to  my  duty  in  the  South.  I  ask  you  for  the  privilege  of  serving 
you,  not  as  a  suitor  for  your  hand,  not  as  one  having  hope,  not 
as  one  deeming  himself  fit  to  be  more  to  you  than  he  now  is, 
but  as  a  man  who  has  had  but  few  opportunities  of  doing  good, 
who  believes  that  the  noblest  thing  he  can  do  —  as  it  would  be 
the  happiest  —  would  be  to  lay  down  his  life  in  your  service.  I 
ask  you  not  to  let  me  live,  but  to  let  me  die  for  you,  that  is  all." 

Long  before  Greathouse  had  finished,  Helen  raised  her  head, 
and  listened  to  him  more  and  more  attentively,  as  he  continued. 
When  he  had  finished  she  spoke. 

"Colonel  Greathouse,  you  cannot  assist  me.  Of  that  I  am 
sure.  None  can  do  it,  save  God  alone.  He  will,  if  it  be  in  ac 
cordance  with  his  divine  plan.  If  he  does  not  will  it,  I  can  only 
submit  to  the  decrees  of  Providence.  It  does  not  become  me 
to  doubt  His  wisdom  or  goodness.  But  I  cannot  dispute  your 
claim  to  my  confidence  longer.  What  the  public  knows  of  my 
sorrows  I  presume  you  also  have  heard.  WThat  it  does  not 
know  I  will  tell  you.  My  father  disappeared  from  his  home 
one  week  before  my  mother's  death.  Word  came  to  us,  no 
matter  how,  that  he  had  fled  from  the  country  to  avoid  his 
debts.  It  was  the  shock  produced  by  his  extraordinary  con 
duct  that  killed  my  poor  mother.  I  know  now  that  he  did  not 
fly  from  the  country,  nor  even  from  this  town.  That  circum 
stance  is  the  reason  of  my  grief.  My  father,  at  this  moment,  is 
detained  by  force  at  the  bottom  of  his  own  mine.  He  is  there, 
either  living  a  miserable  prisoner,  or  perhaps  dying  an  agonizing 
death  from  starvation  and  cold." 

At  this  point  Helen's  manner  had  changed ;  she  had  risen 
from  her  seat ;  her  voice  had  assumed  a  tone  of  lofty  denuncia 
tion.  She  looked  like  some  queen  driven  from  the  home  of 
her  ancestors,  now  standing  forth  to  s'ummon  her  people  to  the 
rescue.  Greathouse  looked  at  her  with  admiration. 

"  Why  has  he  not  been  rescued  ?  "  cried  he. 

Here  her  voice  again  fell. 

"  No  one  believes  my  story.  Only  one  man  knows  my  father 
to  be  there,  and  he  is  the  one  who  holds  him." 

"  I  will  try  to  get  him  out,  if  you  will  let  me,"  said  Great- 
house,  in  an  even  and  modest  tone. 


ROBERT   GREAT  HO  USE.  333 

"  It  is  impossible,"  she  said,  "  one  effort  has  been  made,  an 
honest  effort,  I  am  sure,  but  it  failed,  and  may  have  added  to  my 
father's  peril." 

Greathouse  could  say  no  more  than  he  had  said.  His  offer 
had  not  been  made  in  a  boastful  manner,  but  it  had  conveyed 
all  that  a  determined  and  resolute  man  can  convey,  by  the  use 
of  words  alone.  It  had  said  plainly  enough,  though  the  lan 
guage  used  was  simple  and  the  tone  low,  and  Helen  had  so  un 
derstood  it. 

"  I  am  no  empty  boaster.  I  will  try  to  release  your  father,  and 
my  effort  shall  be  no  child's  play.  I  will  go  as  a  man  goes 
who  lays  his  life  upon  the  stake.  I  will  release  him  though  I 
die  in  the  effort." 

Having  expressed  this  by  his  manner,  if  not  by  his  words, 
there  was  nothing  more  to  add. 

The  two  sat  in  silence  for  a  time,  when  at  last  Helen  spoke. 

"  Colonel  Greathouse,  forty-eight  hours  ago,  I  told  a  man, 
whose  name  you  will  not  ask  me  to  mention,  that  if  he  would 
bring  my  father  to  me  living,  he  might  fetch  at  the  same  time 
with  him  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  and  that  1  would  marry  him 
upon  the  spot.  If  he  does  it,  I  will  keep  my  word ;  and  yet 
that  man  is  not  worthy  to  be  a  menial  servant  to  you,  and  does 
not  even  pretend  to  love  me.  You  say  that  you  love  me,  and 
I  do  not  doubt  it.  Colonel  Greathouse,  I  hope  you  will  not 
think  that  I  have  forgotten  the  modesty  that  ought  from  my 
sex  to  be  part  of  my  nature,  but  if  my  poor  hand,  which  is  all 
that  I  have  left,  will  add  to  your  zeal  in  my  service,  I  will  glad 
ly,  joyously,  make  you  the  same  offer." 

Greathouse  sprang  to  his  feet  at  hearing  this ;  then  he  sud 
denly  sat  down  again,  as  if  ashamed  of  the  burst  of  excitement 
that  had  caused  him  to  forget  himselfr 

"  I  will  try,  Miss  Graham,  to  release  your  father,  and  I 
thank  you  for  the  compliment  your  offer  contains.  I  never 
hoped  to  hear  you  speak  of  marriage  to  me,  it  is  almost  more 
than  I  can  quite  understand.  The  prize  is  so  splendid,  that  it 
takes  away  my  nerve.  I  almost  fear  that  I  cannot  play  my 
part  so  well,  now  that  1  have  something  to  live  for.  But,  Miss 
Graham,  I  will  try,  and  what  is  more,  I  will  begin  now,"  and  he 
rose  to  take  his  leave.  <c  Are  there  any  facts  or  circumstances 
besides  what  you  have  already  told  me,  that  I  ought  to  know, 
that  may  assist  me  in  the  enterprise  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  Colonel  Greathouse.  I  have  told  you  all  that  I 
know  myself.  I  simply  believe  that  my  father  is  detained  in 


334  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

the  mine.  If  I  am  correct  in  my  notion,  it  follows  that  he  is 
detained  by  the  persons  in  charge  of  the  mine.  Who  they  are, 
you  will  easily  learn  upon  inquiry,  if  you  do  not  know  already. 
There  is  one  thing  that  I  have  already  suggested,  and  will 
again  repeat.  An  unsuccessful  effort  may  result  in  my  father's 
death ;  it  may  cause  his  captors  to  murder  him  for  their  own 
security.  But  that  you  will  understand  as  well,  or  better,  than 
I  can  explain  to  you.  I  can  give  you  no  advice,  but  I  can  aid 
you  with  a  daughter's  prayers  for  the  rescue  of  her  father  from 
a  cruel  and  undeserved  fate. 

"  Miss  Graham,  I  will  bid  you  farewell.  If  I  fail  in  this  enter 
prise,  it  will  not  be  because  of  any  faint-heartedness  in  your 
service.  I  say  this  now,  because  I  shall  not  have  the  opportu 
nity  of  saying  it  hereafter.  If  you  ever  see  Robert  Greathouse 
after  to-day,  it  will  be  with  your  father  walking  at  his  side,  and 
he  will  have  to  relate  the  details  of  a  success,  and  not  to  apolo 
gise  for  a  miscarriage.  Good-by." 

Helen  sank  upon  her  knees  once  more,  in  prayer  for 
Heavenly  aid,  and  there  remained  till  long  after  his  departing 
footsteps  had  died  away  in  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 
JACK  GOWDY'S  LOGIC. 

WHEN  Greathouse  left  No.  16,  he  made  his  way  directly  to 
the  street,  but  before  he  had  gone  far,  he  heard  some  one  be 
hind  him,  calling  his  name  loudly.  It  proved  to  be  Jack  Gowdy, 
who  came  running  after  him.  The  stage-driver  had  just  driven 
up  to  the  door  of  the  American  Eagle  Hotel,  and  seeing  his 
friend  pass  out,  shouted  his  name.  That  not  proving  sufficient 
to  attract  his  attention,  he  jumped  from  the  box,  leaving  his 
horses  standing  in  the  street,  and  pursued  and  stopped  him. 

"  Are  you  deaf  ?;'  cried  Jack,  "or  have  you  been  killing  so 
many  Indians  that  laurels  have  put  you  above  speaking  to  your 
old  friends?" 

"  Neither,"   said    Greathouse,   turning  and   shaking    hands 


ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE.  335 

heartily  with  the  other.     "  How  do  you  do,  Gowdy  ?  I  am  glad 
to  see  you,  for  I  have  something  special  to  say  to  you." 

"  That  is  just  my  hand,"  said  Jack.  "  1  have  been  wanting 
you  back  here  for  a  month.  Everything  has  gone  wrong  since 
you  went  away,  and  it  was  high  time  for  you  to  come  home, 
and  put  matters  straight  again.  Wait  just  half  a  minute,  till  I 
tell  one  of  the  boys  to  look  after  my  team,  and  I  will  go  with 
you." 

The  two  men  turned  and  walked  back  to  the  hotel.  Jack 
soon  had  a  man  in  his  place,  and  the  empty  coach  was  rattling 
away  round  the  corner,  in  the  direction  of  the  stables. 

"  Now  come  to  my  room,"  said  Greathouse,  "where  we  can 
be  alone." 

When  they  were  seated  Greathouse  spoke  first. 

"  You  said  that  things  had  gone  wrong  since  I  was  away 
Jack.  What  has  gone  wrong  ? " 

"  Everything,  Bob ;  especially  with  the  Grahams.  You 
never  saw  anything  like  the  time  they  have  had.  Enough 
troubles  fell  in  on  them  in  one  week  to  satisfy  any  reasonable 
family  for  a  whole  life-time.  In  the  first  place,  old  Graham's 
creditors  got  after  him  too  sharp,  and  he  ran  away  to  Salt  Lake. 
That  was  too  much  for  the  old  woman ;  she  couldn't  stand  it ; 
so,  in  about  a  week,  she  handed  in  her  checks  and  quit.  But 
that's  not  half.  About  the  time  we  got  her  planted  in  the 
gravel,  it  turned  out  that  the  old  man  had  not  run  away  after 
all ;  but  was  down  in  his  own  mine  all  the  time." 

"  Wliat  is  he  doing  in  the  mine,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Staying  there,  I  suppose.  There  can't  be  much  else  to  do, 
in  such  a  place.  It  is  full  of  choke-damps,  so  he  can't  be  stay 
ing  there  for  the  pure  fun  of  the  thing." 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  said  Bob,  impatiently.  "Who  keeps 
him  there  ?  " 

"  That  fellow  Bloodstone  keeps  him  there,  of  course,"  said 
the  stage-driver.  "The  superintendent." 

"  What  does  he  do  it  for,  Jack  ?  What  reason  has  he  for  de 
taining  Mr.  Graham?"  asked  Greathouse,  sharply. 

Jack  looked  at  the  questioner  with  a  puzzled  expression. 
"  Why,  he  is  the  superintendent  of  the  mine,  I  tell  you."  But 
seeing  that  Greathouse  was  not  satisfied  with  this  explanation, 
he  went  on  to  put  the  matter  in  a  clearer  light.  "What  reason 
has  a  mining  superintendent  for  stealing  anything  that  he  can 
lay  his  hands  on  ?  I  suppose  he  wanted  him.  He  stole  every 
thing  old  Graham  had,  and  then  he  was  obliged  to  steal  the  old 
man  himself." 


336  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

Greathouse  still  looked  perplexed,  and  Jack  felt  called  upon 
to  make  further  suggestion. 

"  Perhaps  he  does  it  to  keep  his  hand  in  ;  he  may  be  afraid 
that  he  will  forget  how  to  steal,  and  so  unfit  himself  for  the 
management  of  mining  property.  He  will  steal  the  daughter 
next,  I  suppose,  and  then  he  will  go  and  be  superintendent  of 
another  mine.  That's  the  way  they  always  do  in  this  country." 

Jack  having  now  put  the  matter  of  motive  in  a  satisfactory 
light,  waited  with  a  triumphant  air  for  further  questions. 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  Jack,  that  Mr.  Graham  is  in  the 
mine?" 

"  Sure  of  it,  Bob  ?  Well,  I  should  say  that  I  was.  I  am  as 
sure  of  it  as  I  am  that  we  two  gentlemen  are  sitting  here  at 
this  moment  in  conversation." 

"  Why  are  you  sure  of  it  ?  " 

Jack  was  confused  by  this  question.  He  looked  vaguely  at 
the  ceiling  and  then  at  the  floor.  He  took  off  his  hat,  and 
fiercely  scratched  the  back  of  his  head ;  then  he  put  his  hat 
on  again  with  a  violent  jerk,  and  pulled  it  off  as  quick,  followed 
by  more  scratching,  as  if  he  had  a  notion  that  an  idea  was 
unlawfully  concealing  itself  somewhere  in  his  hair,  much  as  a 
rabbit  hides  in  a  pile  of  straw,  and  that  by  this  energetic  mea 
sure  he  could  force  it  to  break  cover. 

"What  reason  have  you  for  thinking  that  Mr.  Graham  is 
kept  in  the  mine  by  his  superintendent  ?  "  repeated  Greathouse. 

This  question,  put  with  more  impatience  than  before,  pro 
duced  the  same  effect  that  Jack's  head-scratching  had  failed  to 
do.  It  started  the  lurking  idea  from  its  hiding  place. 

"  Affidavits,"  said  Jack,  confidently,  "  I  have  seen  affidavits 
to  that  effect.  Sworn  testimony,  Bob.  When  you  see  affida 
vits  of  a  thing,  you  believe  it,  don't  you  ?" 

"  That  depends,  Jack,  upon  who  makes  them.  I  have  seen 
affidavits  that  I  thought  did  not  make  a  case  any  stronger,  and 
I  have  seen  some  that  did.  There  is  a  great  difference  in  affi 
davits,  Jack." 

"  Of  course  there  is,  Bob  ;  I  know  that  as  well  as  any  gentle 
man  in  the  world  can  know  it.  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  scien 
tific  man,  but  I  know  that  much  as  well  as  anybody  can  tell  me  ; 
but  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  believe  it  because  I  have  seen 
the  affidavits  of  unreliable  people.  I  don't  think  anything 
more  of  the  oath  of  a  mining  director,  or  a  Methodist  preacher, 
or  an  abolitionist  school-master,  or  any  other  sneak,  than  you 
do,  Bob.  I  refer  to  the  affidavit  of  a  gentleman,  and  as  ele- 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


337 


gant  a  gentleman  as  walks  on  the  top  of  the  earth  to-day.  I 
have  seen  an  affidavit  that  such  a  gentleman  as  that  spent  a 
whole  evening  swearing  up  to  the  mark.  Now  are  you  satis 
fied  ?  "  And  Jack  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  with  an  air 
that  said  plainly,  "  that  point  is  at  last  disposed  of,  and  thor 
oughly  established." 

Bob,  however,  still  looked  doubtingly  at  his  friend.  "Who 
was  the  gentleman,  Jack  ?  " 

The  stage-driver  gave  a  start  at  this  question,  that  clearly 
indicated  impatience.  His  face  wore  an  injured  expression. 
A  personal  wrong  was  being  put  upon  him  ;  his  countenance 
appeared  to  say,  "  Where  is  this  thing  to  stop  ? " 

"What's  the  odds,  Bob,"  he  said  at  last,  "who  he  was?  You 
have  my  word  that  he  is  as  reliable  a  gentleman  as  can  be  found 
in  the  Territory.  What  more  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  would  like  to  know  his  name,  Jack,  if  only  from  curiosity. 
If  he  is  the  sort  of  person  you  say  he  is,  I  am  content." 

Jack's  face  lighted  up.  "  If  I  tell  you  his  name,  Bob,  and  he 
proves,  as  I  know  he  will  prove,  to  be  an  elegant,  high-toned 
gentleman,  one  whose  character  is  above  suspicion,  will  you  be 
satisfied?" 

"  Of  course  I  will,  Jack.     That  is  all  I  ask." 

"Well,"  said  Jack,  settling  back  in  his  chair  and  putting  his 
hat  on  with  a  determined  smack  that  sent  it  down  almost  over 
his  ears,  "  that  is  my  hand.  I  swore  to  them  documents  my 
self.  I  am  the  gentleman.  I  swore  to  them  without  interrup 
tion  from  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  till  it  was  time  for  me  to 
start  over  the  mountains  next  morning,  and  pretty  rough  work 
it  was,  I  can  tell  you." 

This  statement  of  Jack's  about  the  time  engaged  in  the  jura 
tory  process  was  wholly  imaginary  and  based  upon  what  his 
intentions  had  been  and  what  he  had  stood  ready  and  willing  to 
do,  if  required.  He  felt  that  as  he  was  prepared  to  do  so  much 
swearing,  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not  have  the 
credit  of  having  actually  performed  the  task. 

"  Now,  Bob,  I  hope  you  are  satisfied.  When  you  ask  me,  do 
I  believe  that  old  Graham  is  in  the  mine,  I  say  to  you  that  after 
all  that  rough  swearing  it  was  about  time  for  me  to  commence 
having  some  pretty  decided  notions  on  the  subject.  If  I  am 
ever  going  to  believe  he  is  there,  then  that  time  must  have 
come.  Would  you  not  say  so,  Bob?" 

"  Yes,  Jack,  I  should  say  that  it  had." 

"Well,  Bob,  that   time   has  come.     It  came  the  minute  I 


338  ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE. 

heard  he  was  in  the  mine.  I  was  ready  to  swear  to  it  then, 
though  I  had  not  then  half  the  reasons  for  knowing  it  that  I 
now  have." 

"What  fresh  reasons  have  you  now,  Jack,  for  knowing  it  ?" 

"  Millions  of  them,  Bob  ;  millions.  I  could  not  tell  them  all 
to  you  in  a  week  ;  no,  riot  in  a  year." 

"What  is  your  chief  reason  for  thinking  him  there?" 

"  My  chief  reason,  Bob,"  and  here  Jack  re-commenced  the 
demonstrations  upon  his  hair,  looking  to  the  forcing  of  another 
concealed  idea  from  cover,  "  because,"  said  he  at  last  with  a 
burst  of  triumph,  "  if  he  is  not  there,  then  where  in  hell  is  he  ? 
Can  you  answer  me  that  question,  Bob  Greathouse  ?  If  you  can't, 
I  take  it  for  granted,  between  gentlemen,  you  will  hand  in  your 
checks  and  quit  the  game.  You  can't  answer  it,  sir.  No  man 
can.  Because  why  ?  They  can't  give  any  answer.  If  he  is  not 
in  the  mine,  then  they  can't  tell  where  he  is,  and  no  man  can 
tell." 

"  Suppose  he  is  in  Salt  Lake,  Jack." 

"But  I  tell  you  he  is  not  in  Salt  Lake,  Bob;  he  can't  be  in 
Salt  Lake." 

"Why  not,  Jack?" 

"Because  he  can't,  Bob." 

"  But  why  can't  he,  Jack  ?" 

Jack  looked  as  if  discouraged  with  the  stupidity  of  his  friend. 
"  I  have  told  you  why  more  than  twenty  times  already,  and  you 
don't  seem  to  understand  it.  I  will  tell  you  again,  and  see  if 
I  can  get  it  through  your  head.  He  can't  be  in  Salt  Lake, 
because  he  is  in  the  mine.  A  man  can't  be  in  two  different 
places  at  the  same  time,  can  he  ?  You  just  answer  me  that) 
question." 

"  No  one  said  he  could,  Jack;  but  how  do  you  know  he  is  in 
the  mine  ?  " 

Jack  was  now  losing  his  temper. 

"  You  want  me  to  explain  that  to  you  again,  do  you,  Bob  ? 
Well  I  will  do  it,  and  then  I  am  done.  In  the  first  place,  to  go 
over  the  ground  again,  if  he  is  not  in  the  mine,  where  in  hell  is 
he  ?  In  the  second  place,  I  have  sworn  that  he  is  in  the  mine 
for  more  than  two  hours  on  a  stretch,  and  I  consider  my  oath 
as  good  as  the  oath  of  any  other  white  man  that  ever  walked 
on  the  top  of  the  earth,  I  don't  care  a  continental  damn  where 
the  next  one  comes  from.  I  think  these  two  reasons  ought  to 
be  sufficient  for  any  gentleman  who  pretends  to  call  himself  my 
friend.  But  I  have  others." 


ROBERT   CREATHOUSE.  339 

Here  he  looked  at  Bob  reproachfully. 

"  After  I  had  made  them  affidavits,  I  heard  that  there  were 
some  people  who  felt  disposed  to  doubt'  the  truth  of  what  I  had 
sworn  to.  Well,  what  did  I  do  ?  I  hope  I  did  what  is  expected 
of  a  gentleman.  I  generally  try  to  do  that  as  well  as  I  know 
how.  I  took  a  friend  with  me,  as  elegant  a  gentleman  as  ever 
chewed  fine-cut,  though  he  does  drive  an  ox-team  for  a  living. 
A  gentleman,"  and  here  he  looked  with  cold  severity  at  Great- 
house,  who  had  by  implication  questioned  his  oath,  "  a  gentle 
man,  I  say,  who  does  not  require  the  whys  and  the  wherefores 
for  every  statement  a  friend  makes  to  him.  I  took  that  gentle 
man- —  Joseph  Bowers,  Esquire,  is  his  name  —  with  me.  I  sent 
another  driver  over  the  mountains  with  my  coach,  and  this 
gentleman,  my  friend,  turned  his  oxen  out  upon  the  grass ;  we 
loaded  our  fire-arms  and  we  paraded  the  town  of  Virginia  City 
for  two  days,  steadily  inquiring  into  the  facts  of  the  case.  We 
asked  everybody  we  met  what  they  thought  of  them  affidavits 
and  what  was  their  private  opinion  of  the  conduct  of  John 
Gowdy  in  making  'em.  Did  we  find  anybody  that  questioned 
their  truth?  No,  sir,  we  didn't.  We  did  not  meet  anything  in 
the  shape  of  a  man  knee  high  to  a  grasshopper  that  did  not  be 
lieve,  religiously,  that  Mr.  Graham  was  in  the  mine.  And 
more,  every  one  of  them  said  that  if  I  should  meet  the  thieving 
scoundrel,  Bloodstone,  and  scalp  him,  I  would  do  a  good  service 
to  the  country,  and  they  would  be  glad  of  it.  Now,  Bob,  if  Mr, 
Graham  is  not  in  the  mine,  why  did  not  some  of  them  people 
say  so?  Everybody  can't  be  wrong,  can  they?" 

"  No,  I  should  say  they  could  not,  Jack,"  said  Bob,  who  was 
now  satisfied  that,  whether  his  friend  was  right  or  wrong  in  his 
opinion,  at  least  no  new  light  could  be  thrown  by  him  upon  the 
subject  of  Mr.  Graham's  absence.  "But,"  he  continued,  "why 
have  you  not  got  the  gentleman  out  before  this  time  ?" 

"Why,"  cried  Jack,  "because  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  to 
come  home.  There  is  nobody  else  in  the  country  that  can  be 
depended  upon.  Joe  Bowers  means  well  enough ;  his  will  is 
good ;  but  what  can  you  expect  of  an  ox-driver,  and  especially 
one  that  has  been  crossed  in  love,  as  Joe  has?  He  is  like  a 
horse  that  don't  have  his  oats ;  he  may  mean  well  enough,  but 
you  can't  get  the  speed  on  him.  Joe  can't  get  over  enough 
ground.  It  would  take  him  a  whole  day  to  go  from  here  up 
to  the  Graham  mine,  to  say  nothing  about  taking  anybody  out 
of  it  after  he  got  there.  He  cannot  understand  that  he  has  not 
his  cattle  along  with  him  all  the  time.  He  moves  at  the  pace 


340  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

his  oxen  go  with  a  great  load  of  silver  rock  behind  them,  and 
he  keeps  halting  for  them  to  catch  up  with  him.  If  we  should 
start  up  there  early  in  £he  morning  to  take  the  old  gentleman 
out  of  the  hole,  we  would  be  obliged  to  camp  out  on  the  road 
the  first  night,  for  we  would  not  get  there  that  day.  I  knew 
this,  and  the  first  time  I  got  Joe  up  to  the  mine,  I  left  him  close 
by  the  shaft  and  told  him  to  wait  there  for  me  till  I  should 
come  back.  I  said,  '  Joe,  watch  the  place  sharp  and  remember 
everything  that  occurs,  so  as  to  tell  me.  Keep  your  eye 
skinned,  Joe,'  said  I,  '  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  by  that  time  I 
will  be  back  here  with  you.'  That  was  a  week  ago.  Since 
that  I  have  been  over  the  mountains  two  trips  and  back  again, 
and  I  will  bet  a  thousand  dollars  to  a  paper  of  '  fine-cut '  that 
Joe  Bovvers  don't  think  I  have  been  away  more  than  twenty 
minutes.  He  runs  at  a  lower  speed  than  any  other  gentleman 
ever  did  go,  though  that  other  may  have  been  an  ox-driver 
himself,  unless  he  has  been  crossed  in  love,  and  then  I  can't 
say  about  him.  But  this  I  will  say  for  Joseph  Bowers,  he  is 
reliable.  When  we  go  to  that  mine,  if  it  is  a  year  from  now, 
we  will  find  him  on  the  ground.  He  will  never  break  camp 
till  I  come  back  to  him.  Joe  Bowers  can  wait  longer  than  any 
man  in  the  world." 

"What  are  your  plans,  Jack  ?  "  inquired  Bob.  "  How  do  you 
propose  to  proceed  in  effecting  Mr.  Graham's  release?'* 

"My  plans,  Bob?  I  have  no  plans.  If  I  had  had  plans,  1 
would  have  had  the  old  man  out  before  now.  It  was  just 
because  I  had  no  plans  that  I  waited  for  you  to  come  back.  I 
will  do  anything  that  you  say,  and  so  will  Joe  Bowers  if  it  don't 
require  too  high  a  rate  of  speed.  Joe  is  as  reliable  a  man  as 
any  you  can  find,  if  you  will  only  not  forget  that  he  is  an  ox- 
driver.  Start  him  in  time,  that's  all.  Let  him  go  to  the  place 
the  day  before  you  intend  to  commence,  and  Joe  will  never  fail 
you ;  but  that  is  not  necessary  now,  for  he  is  already  on  the 
ground,  and  will  be  there  whenever  we  come." 

"  There  is  no  doubt,  Jack,  that  your  friend  Bowers  is  already 
well  placed ;  let  him  stay  where  he  is.  But  have  you  thought 
of  no  way  to  go  about  the  matter  ?" 

"  Yes,  Bob,  I  have  thought  of  a  good  many  ways,  but  none 
of  them  seemed  to  come  to  much.  Joe  Bowers,  who  has  more 
sense  than  you  would  expect  to  find  in  an  ox-driver,  especially 
one  that  has  been  crossed  in  love,  persuaded  me  out  of  several 
of  my  plans.  At  one  time  I  thought  of  setting  fire  to  the 
hoisting  sheds,  and  burning  the  thieves  out  of  it  like  a  nest  of 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  341 

rats.  My  plan  was  to  set  fire  to  the  shed  in  the  night,  and  then 
stand  outside  and  shoot  the  scoundrels  as  they  would  run  out. 
But  Joe  said  that  in  that  way  we  would  burn  up  poor  Mr.  Gra 
ham  in  the  bottom  of  the  mine  ;  so  that  and  several  other  plans 
were  dropped,  as  not  being,  upon  the  whole,  feasible.  At  last 
I  left  Joe,  as  I  have  told  you,  to  watch  the  place  till  you  should 
get  back.  Joe  is  as  much  interested  in  the  matter  as  any  of 
us,  and  he  will  stay  there.  His  oxen  wanted  to  go  on  to  the 
grass  for  a  few  weeks  anyhow,  so  he  said,  and  as  nothing  could 
be  done  till  you  came,  I  went  back  to  my  coach  and  left  him 
watching  the  mine.  But  now  you  are  come,  I  am  ready  to  do 
anything  you  say.  You  know  all  about  the  matter  now  as  well 
as  I  do." 

Bob  mused  for  a  time. 

"Jack,"  said  he,  at  last,  "  it  must  be  Bloodstone  who  is  keep 
ing  the  old  gentleman  down  there." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course  it  is,  Bob ;  I  know  that  perfectly  well. 
That  was  in  my  affidavit.  1  swore  to  that  as  much  as  half 
an  hour." 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  said  Bob,  interrupting  him  impatiently. 
"  So  if  Bloodstone  has  him,  we  must  see  Bloodstone  first.  Per 
haps  we  might  induce  him,  in  some  way,  to  allow  the  old  gen 
tleman  to  come  out.  He  can't  be  very  anxious  to  keep  him. 
With  a  few  kind  words,  he  might  be  persuaded  to  release  him. 
Who  stays  at  the  mine,  Jack  ?  Could  we  get  in  there  to  do 
anything  ?  " 

"  No,  Bob,  that  is  the  great  difficulty.  The  place  is  barri 
caded  like  a  fortress ;  then  they  never  open  the  door  to  any 
body  without  first  looking  carefully  at  them,  through  the  peep 
holes,  to  see  if  it  is  safe  to  do  so.  They  keep  three  or  four 
fellows  in  the  shed  all  the  time,  and  the  door  is  as  strong  as 
wood,  and  iron,  and  locks,  and  bars  can  make  it.  You  can't 
get  in  till  they  are  ready  to  let  you  in,  and  then  it  would  be  too 
late  to  do  any  good  " 

"You  are  right,  Jack.  We  must  see  Bloodstone  and  talk  to 
him.  We  must  try  mt>ral  force.  We  must  argue  the  point  with 
him.  We  must  show  him  how  wrong  it  is  to  keep  an  old  gen 
tleman  away  from  his  family.  I  think  a  little  reason,  properly 
offered  to  him,  will  fetch  him  around.  WThere  is  he  ?  —  at  the 
office,  or  at  the  mine  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  worst  of  it,  Bob ;  he  has  gone  over  the  moun 
tains,  to  be  gone  two  or  three  weeks.  I  took  him  over  yester 
day  when  I  went.  I  did  not  go  all  the  way,  but  came  back 


34:2  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

from  Strawberry,  to  accommodate  another  driver.  The  super 
intendent  went  on  to  San  Francisco.  He  was  with  a  fellow  of 
the  name  of  Withergreen,  another  vagabond,  a  good  deal  like 
himself.  Thay  run  together  lately,  and  are  like  a  pair  of  twins. 
I  would  have  been  glad  of  a  chance  to  throw  them  both  over 
the  bank.  A  greater  pair  of  scoundrels  never  cheated  the 
gallows." 

"Bloodstone  gone  to  San  Francisco  !"  cried  Greathouse,  in 
amazement.  "That  is  a  new  difficulty.  I  do  not  believe  any 
thing  can  be  done  without  his  consent.  These  fellows  will  lock 
themselves  up  so  tight  that  we  could  not  get  a  word  into  their 
ears,  do  what  we  may.  There  is  no  use  in  trying  to  reason 
with  the  hired  men,  even  if  we  could  get  to  them,  which  we 
can't.  Bloodstone  is  the  man  to  talk  to ;  there  no  mistake 
can  be  made.  You  are  sure  he  has  gone  to  the  Bay  ?  "  he 
asked,  rising  up  and  pacing  the  room. 

"  Dead  sure,  Bob ;  1  took  him  as  far  as  Strawberry  myself. 
There  can't  be  any  sort  of  doubt  about  it.  Both  he  and  Wither 
green  went  over  together.  I  noticed  it,  because  Joe  Bowers  saw 
Withergreen  come  out  of  the  Graham  mine  the  day  before  with 
Bloodstone,  and  told  me  of  it.  That  made  me  notice  Wither 
green  more  particularly,  and  they  kept  together  close  all  the  time, 
and  talked  very  confidentially.  I  could  not  hear  anything  they 
said.  They  rode  inside.  I  had  talked  about  scalping  Blood 
stone,  and  so  he  gave  me  a  rather  wide  berth.  I  remem 
bered  what  Joe  said  about  their  coming  out  of  the  mine 
together." 

"That  is  important,  Jack.  Did  you  hear  how  long  that  man 
Withergreen  was  to  be  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  heard  him  tell  another  passenger,  as  we  drove  away 
from  here,  that  he  would  not  be  over  here  again  for  a  month  or 
so." 

Bob  continued  his  walk,  without  speaking,  for  ten  minutes, 
the  stage-driver  watching  him  all  the  while  anxiously,  but  with 
a  look  of  complete  confidence  plainly  expressed  in  his  counte 
nance.  At  last  he  paused. 

"Jack,"  said  he,  "  do  you  go  over  to-morrow?" 

"Not  unless  you  wish  me  to  do  so,  Bob.  My  coach  goes, 
but  I  am  booked  for  this  business  now,  till  it  is  done,  and  I  am 
under  command  of  my  superior  officer,  Colonel  Greathouse.  If 
you  wish  me  to  go,  1  go  ;  if  you  wish  me  to  stay  here,  say  the 
word,  and  I  stay." 

Again  Greathouse  resumed  his  walk. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  343 

"Jack,"  said  he,  "nothing  can  be  done  without  the  consent 
of  this  man,  Bloodstone.  He  has  evidently  got  Mr.  Graham 
in  his  power  for  some  reason,  and  I  cannot  imagine  what.  Any 
movement  here  will  be  sure  to  fail.  We  shall  either  get  hold  of 
the  wrong  man,  that  is,  talk  to  some  fellow  that  knows  nothing 
about  the  business,  while  the  real  party  who  has  Mr.  Graham 
in  charge  will  get  frightened  and  strangle  him.  You  see,  Jack, 
every  man  of  them  knows  full  well  that  if  Mr.  Graham  should 
be  found  in  that  mine,  their  lives  would  not  be  worth  ten  min 
utes'  purchase.  A  mob  of  miners  would  hang  them  to  a  man. 
It  is  of  no  use  to  go  after  these  underlings.  We  must  com 
mence  at  the  head,  or  we  shall  never  accomplish  anything. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Jack?" 

"Do  I  think  so,  Bob?  I  don't  think  nothing  about  it,  I 
know  we  must.  Of  course  that  is  the  way  to  do ;  any  child 
would  know  that  without  being  told." 

"Well,  I  am  glad,  Jack,  that  the  idea  meets  with  your  appro 
bation.  My  plan  is  to  go  to  Mr.  Bloodstone,  in  San  Francisco, 
and  talk  to  him  at  once.  If  he  can't  be  induced  to  let  the  old 
man  go,  then  we  must  try  some  other  scheme.  But  I  don't 
believe  any  plan  can  succeed  that  does  not  provide  for  the  full 
consent  of  Mr.  Bloodstone  to  be  obtained.  He  must  be  con 
vinced  that  it  is  greatly  to  his  interest  to  release  his  prisoner 
If  we  can't  do  that,  we  will  fail.  He  holds  the  winning  cards 
in  his  hands,  and  it  must  be  made  plain,  and  decidedly  to  his 
interest,  to  let  go  his  hold.  As  the  game  now  stands,  the 
United  States  army,  and  the  Confederate  army  at  its  back, 
could  not  get  Mr.  Graham  out  of  that  mine  alive.  If  Blood 
stone  can  be  induced  to  consent,  you  and  your  friend,  Joe 
Bowers,  with  a  little  help  from  me,  can  manage  the  whole 
affair." 

"  Thank  you,  old  fellow,"  cried  Jack,  springing  up  and  catch 
ing  his  friend's  hand,  and  shaking  it  heartily,  "you  have  taken 
a  load  from  my  mind.  I  can't  imagine  just  what  argument  you 
can  offer  to  such  an  infernal  scoundrel  as  Bloodstone  is,  but 
you  must  work  that  out.  Coin  is  the  best  thing  to  offer  him, 
but  that  is  just  what  we  have  not  much  of.  All  I  have  you 
are  welcome  to,  and  all  I  can  borrow  or  steal,  if  I  get  a  rea 
sonable  chance  at  anybody's  bank.  But  all  of  these  things  are 
matters  of  detail  that  you,  Bob,  must  attend  to.  As  for  my 
part  of  the  work,  only  just  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do,  that  is  all  I 
ask.  But  don't  tell  me  too  much  at  a  time,  for  I  am  afraid  I 
might  forget  something  just  at  the  critical  moment,  and  cause 


344  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

everything  to  go  wrong.  When  you  want  anything  done,  tell 
me  ten  seconds  in  advance.  That  is  as  long  as  I  want  to  know 
it,  and  then  you  can  count  on  me.  If  you  want  Joe  Bowers 
to  do  anything,  I  will  run  right  up  to  the  mine  and  tell  him 
now,  so  that  he  will  have  a  day  to  prepare  himself." 

"  Nothing,  Jack.  Let  Joe  Bowers  stay  just  where  he  is.  He 
is  well  placed  now,  without  any  change.  Perhaps  you  might 
go  up  and  tell  him  to  stay  by  the  mine  until  you  come  back, 
and  to  go  on  as  he  is  doing." 

"  Not  at  all !  "  cried  Jack.  "It  is  not  necessary  to  tell 
Joe  to  wait.  Waiting  is  Joe's  strong  suit ;  he's  always  ready  to 
do  that.  But  if  you  want  to  move  him,  that  will  require  a 
special  command,  that  is  all.  We  will  find  him  at  his  post 
when  we  are  ready  for  him,  without  any  fresh  instructions." 

"Very  well,  Jack,  then  that  is  settled.  To-morrow  we  go 
over  the  mountains  on  your  coach.  I  am  going  directly  to 
San  Francisco  to  talk  with  Mr.  Bloodstone.  I  am  going  to 
see  if  he  cannot  be  induced  to  let  the  poor  old  gentleman, 
who  can  be  of  no  possible  use  to  him,  come  out  of  the  mine 
and  go  about  his  business.  I  have  done  some  very  hard 
travelling  within  the  last  three  days,  Jack,  and  I  have  not 
slept  a  single  instant  within  that  time,  so  call  for  me  in 
the  morning,  and  save  me  a  place  on  the  box  with  you. 
Now  that  all  is  agreed  upon,  I  will  go  to  bed." 

"All  right,  Colonel,"  cried  the  stage-driver.  "I  will  be 
down  upon  you  by  four  o'clock.  You  will  not  get  more 
than  forty  winks  of  sleep  before  we  start." 

"  Good-night,  Jack  "  ;  and  the  two  men  separated. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  345 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

A  PRIVATE  WRIT  OF  HABEAS  CORPUS. 

"DicK  !  Dick  !  have  you  answered  the  bell  in  No.  698?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  does  the  gentleman  want  ?" 

"  He  don't  like  his  room,  sir.  Says  it  is  too  high  up.  He  is 
afraid  of  earthquakes,  sir.  Says  he  sleeps  very  sound,  and  that 
if  the  house  should  be  shaken  down  in  the  night  he  is  afraid  he 
wouldn't  get  out  with  his  baggage." 

"Afraid  of  earthquakes,  is  he  ?  Does  he  think  any  respect 
able  earthquake  would  take  up  its  time  with  such  a  Washoe 
bushwhacker  as  he  is  ?  Why  in  hell  don't  he  sleep  in  the  street  ? 
May  be  that  would  be  safe  enough  to  suit  him.  Does  he  want 
to  be  put  in  the  cellar,  where  they  will  have  to  dig  him  out  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  He  says  he  wants  a  room  on  the  first  floor,  where 
he  can  get  out  himself  before  the  house  falls  down.  He  don't 
want  to  trouble  anybody  to  dig  him  out.  Says  he  would  rather 
walk  out,  if  it  is  all  the  same." 

"  Humph  !  he  is  very  modest.  That  is  always  the  way  with 
these  mountaineers.  They  are  so  used  to  sleeping  in  the  open 
air  that  when  they  get  into  a  comfortable  bed  they  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  it.  Clean  sheets  give  'em  the  nightmare  and 
they  think  the  house  has  fallen  down  on  them.  Dick  ! " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Tell  the  gentleman  that  he  can  have  No.  42,  if  he  wants  to 
pay  for  it.  But  it  takes  coin.  He  must  take  the  whole  suit ; 
they  go  together,  and  are  ten  dollars  a  day." 

"  Yes,  sir.  The  gentleman  says,  sir,  that  he  don't  care  any 
thing  about  the  price.  He  is  only  anxious  about  the  safety  of 
himself  and  his  baggage.  He  don't  want  to  be  smashed,  he  says, 
because  he  is  not  used  to  it.  Another  time  when  he  is  more  ac 
customed  to  the  ways  of  the  place  he  will  not  object,  but  at  pres 
ent  he  wants  to  be  excused.  He  don't  care  for  coin.  He  says 
that  he  has  got  so  much  now  that  he  don't  know  what  to  do 
with  it.  He  says  he  is  obliged  to  throw  some  of  it  out  of  the 
window  every  morning  just  to  reduce  his  stock." 


346  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

k<  Humph!  he  does,  does  he?  I'll  bet  high  he  has  strings 
tied  to  it  and  hauls  it  in  again.  That  is  generally  the  way 
with  fellows  that  throw  their  money  about  so  free.  Very  well, 
Dick,  if  he  is  so  much  troubled  with  coin,  show  him  No.  42. 
He  won't  have  much  to  pitch  out  of  the  window  of  that  room 
if  he  pays  his  bills  regularly." 

"All  right,  sir!" 

This  conversation  took  place  between  the  clerk  of  the  Cos- 
modental  Hotel  at  San  Francisco,  and  one  of  the  bell-boys.  A 
stranger  had  arrived  by  the  Sacramento  steamer  in  the  evening, 
and  had  registered  his  name  as  Colonel  Robert  Greathouse,  of 
Washoe,  and  called  for  a  good,  large,  comfortable  room,  to  be 
situated  very  low  down. 

"All  right,  Colonel  Greathouse,"  said  the  obliging  clerk, 
reading  his  name  over  his  shoulder,  "we  can  accommodate  you, 
sir.  We  have  just  the  room  you  want  for  all  the  world.  Dick  ! 
Dick ! " 

"  Sir." 

"  Show  Colonel  Greathouse  to  698." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  be  spry  about  it.     Do  you  hear?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And,  Dick,  take  Colonel  Greathouse' s  carpet-baa;/' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  a  candle,  Dick.     Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     Yes,  sir." 

And  so  Colonel  Greathouse  had  followed  the  boy  up  flight 
after  flight  of  stairs  till  he  came  to  698,  the  last  room  of  the 
last  floor  next  to  the  roof.  Here  Dick  set  down  the  Colonel's 
baggage  and  candle,  and,  under  pretence  of  stepping  out  for  a 
moment,  scampered  away  down  stairs  as  fast  as  his  legs  could 
carry  him. 

"  This  countryman  will  not  be  satisfied  with  this  room,"  he 
thought.  "  Nobody  is  ever  satisfied  with  No.  698,  though  we 
fetch  all  countrymen  here  the  first  night  and  try  them  with  it. 
They  generally  sleep  in  it  one  night  before  they  learn  the  use 
of  the  bell  rope.  Countrymen  have  an  idea  that  the  only  way 
to  give  an  order  in  a  hotel  is  to  go  all  the  way  down  to  the 
office  and  see  the  proprietor,  and  tell  him  personally  what  they 
want.  I  wish  everybody  in  the  house  were  countrymen.  It 
would  be  much  easier  on  the  bell-ropes  and  on  the  boys. 
Especially  on  the  boys." 

So  Dick  vanished  as  quickly  as  possible,  hoping  to  hear  no 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  347 

more  from  698,  at  least  till  the  next  morning.  But  before  he 
reached  the  ground  floor  the  bell  of  698  was  ringing  furiously, 
•and  Mr.  Dick  was  obliged,  most  reluctantly,  to  ascend  again  to 
the  top  of  the  house.  This  countryman  had  proved  an  excep 
tion  to  the  rule,  and  tugged  away  at  the  bell  as  if  he  had  been 
a  professional  bell-ringer.  Upon  Dick's  return  again  to  the 
office  the  foregoing  conversation  took  place. 

Greathouse  was  shown  down  to  the  first  floor  and  into  No. 
42. 

"  This  is  a  nice  room,"  said  Dick,  "  but  it  is  a  little  expen 
sive." 

"  What  is  the  price  ?  "  asked  the  mountaineer. 

"  Ten  dollars  a  night,  sir.  But,  you  know,  this  is  one  of  our 
finest  family  rooms  ;  and  in  case  of  earthquakes,  you  could 
easily  reach  the  street  before  the  house  could  fall." 

The  stranger  mused  a  moment,  as  if  considering  the  price  and 
comparing  the  amount  of  money  with  its  relative  exemption 
from  peril. 

"  It  is  regular  earthquake  proof,  sir,"  suggested  Dick,  seeing 
the  gentleman  hesitate.  "  You  could  not  shake  it  down  with  a 
dozen  earthquakes.  Indeed  it  has  been  tried,  sir." 

Dick  did  not  want  to  go  up  stairs  again. 

"Boy,"  said  the  stranger,  without  noticing  Dick's  hints  about 
the  qualities  of  the  apartment,  "  does  a  gentleman  named 
Bloodstone  live  in  this  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  does.  He  is  a  great  friend  of  Mr.  Withergreen, 
and  came  down  with  him  only  a  day  or  two  ago.  Indeed,  sir, 
they  live  on  this  floor  and  close  by  this  very  room." 

"  Ah  !  do  they,  indeed  ?  You  say  you  are  quite  confident- that 
if  I  take  this  room,  and  there  should  be  a  shake,  that  I  could 
get  out  in  time  ?  " 

"  Oh,  quite  sure,  sir.  This  is  the  safest  room  in  the  whole 
house." 

"  Hem  ! "  said  the  stranger,  considering.  "  Could  I  get  away 
with  my  baggage,  do  you  think  ?  " 

The  boy  looked  at  the  little  carpet  bag  sitting  modestly  by 
the  door,  with  a  patronizing  smile.  It  was  the  ordinary  outfit 
of  a  traveller  in  the  mountains,  containing  only  a  shirt  collar 
and  an  extra  pair  of  pistols.  • 

"Oh,  yes,  sir  !     I  am  quite  sure  you  could,  sir." 

"  Very  well,  boy.  I  don't  wish  to  be  pulverized  the  first  time 
I  come  to  your  town,  so  I  will  take  the  place.  Ten  dollars  a 
night,  heigh  !  Well,  I  shan't  stay  long.  I  am  going  away  to- 


348  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

morrow  at  four  o'clock  ;  and,  to  save  any  more  trouble,  I  will 
pay  now.  Here  are  ten  dollars.  Oblige  me  by  taking  them 
to  the  office  and  fetching  me  my  bill  receipted." 

"There  is  no  need  of  it,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  "gentlemen  are 
never  expected  to  pay  in  advance  here." 

"  But  I  wish  to  do  it ;  for  I  am  so  sleepy  that  I  may  not  get 
up  till  just  time  to  go  to  the  steamer.  In  such  case,  if  I  pay 
now,  I  will  not  be  detained  then." 

The  boy  took  the  money,  and  went  to  the  office. 

"  No.  698  takes  No.  42,  sir,  at  ten  dollars  a  night.  He  is 
going  to  sleep  till  time  to  go  away  to-morrow,  and  wants  to  pay 
his  bill  now,  and  have  no  more  trouble." 

"  He  does,  does  he  ?  What  a  prompt  cuss  he  is,  to  be  sure. 
Perhaps  he  is  afraid  an  earthquake  may  drive  him  out,,  and  de 
prive  him  of  the  luxury  of  paying.  Very  good  !  I  wish  they 
were  all  as  prompt.  Here  is  the  gentleman's  bill  receipted. 
Run  along  with  it ;  and  don't  stop  lounging  in  the  halls  as  you 
go.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

But  the  boy  answered  his  "  yes,  sir,"  almost  from  the  top  of 
the  stairs,  on  his  way  to  No.  42. 

"  Here  is  your  bill,  sir,  all  regularly  receipted.  Shall  I  call 
you,  sir,  in  time  for  the  steamer,  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  No,  I  will  get  up  myself  without  being  called.  I  say,  boy  ! 
what  is  the  number  of  Mr.  Bloodstone's  room?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  it  is  quite  close  by.  It  is  only  No.  47,  sir.  Here 
it  is,  just  across  the  hall ;  and  beyond  it  is  Mr.  Withergreen's 
room,  No.  78.  They  are  great  friends,  you  know." 

"  Thank  you,  boy.     Good-night." 

When  the  boy  had  gone,  Colonel  Greathouse  stepped  out  of 
his  door,  and  walked  directly  over  to  No.  47,  and  knocked 
without  hesitation.  There  was  no  answer,  and  he  knocked  a 
second  time.  Still  receiving  no  response,  he  opened  the  door 
and  looked  in.  The  room  was  empty.  The  light  from  the  gas- 
jet  in  the  hall  showed  that  it  was  not  permanently  vacant.  A 
pair  of  slippers  set  by  the  bed,  and  a  carpet  bag  in  the  corner 
of  the  room,  stood  open,  as  if  in  constant  use.  On  the  end  of 
it  was  printed  in  plain  letters,  "Enoch  Bloodstone."  "There 
can  be  no  mistake,"  said  Greathouse.  "This  is  the  right 
place  at  last.  The  gentleman  will  no  doubt  be  in  soon." 
This  said,  he  closed  the  door  cautiously,  and  retired  to  the 
parlor  of  No.  42.  But  he  appeared  to  have  entirely  forgotten 
the  statement  he  had  made  to  the  bell-boy,  about  his  being  so 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  349 

much  in  need  of  sleep,  for  he  made  no  movement  toward  seek 
ing  his  bed.  On  the  contrary,  nothing  appeared  to  be  farther 
from  his  thoughts  than  an  intention  to  sleep.  He  turned  down 
the  gas  so  low  that  the  room  was  quite  dark,  as  if  studying  a 
point  of  thrift  for  the  benefit  of  the  hotel  proprietor.  Then  he 
drew  a  chair  to  the  side  of  the  door  looking  into  the  hall,  which 
he  placed  slightly  ajar,  leaving  an  aperture  of  half  an  inch. 
Here  he  took  his  seat,  in  such  a  position  that  he  could  watch 
the  hall  and  the  door  of  No.  47.  He  was  awaiting  the  return 
of  Mr.  Bloodstone. 

It  was  already  quite  midnight  before  Greathouse  was  settled 
in  No  42  ;  and  if  the  gentleman  for  whom  he  was  waiting  was 
at  all  of  regular  habits,  he  might  be  expected  to  arrive  at  any 
moment.  But  it  was  clear  that  he  was  not,  for  one  o'clock,  and 
then  two  o'clock,  and  at  last  daylight  crept  regularly  along, 
and  still  the  stranger  sat  patiently  listening,  and  watching,  at  the 
crack  in  the  parlor  door.  His  eyes  never  closed  the  livelong 
night,  but  like  a  statue  of  brass  he  looked  without  moving,  with 
out  winking,  towards  the  one  spot  of  interest. 

By  ten  o'clock,  the  halls  began  to  be  filled  with  bustling  ser 
vants  and  hurrying  guests.  Doors  opened  all  along,  and  meek 
looking  gentlemen  in  sober  black,  solemn  and  subdued,  with 
ladies  dressed  in  breakfast  costume,  some  in  linen,  neat  and 
crisp,  and  more  in  flaunting  silk,  garish  and  greasy,  floated  out 
into  the  hall,  where  they  eddied  about  for  a  time  in  the  passages 
and  corners,  till  caught  up  by  the  hungry  stream,  and  then 
drifted  away  in  bobbing  and  chattering  flotilla,  to  be  swallowed 
up  in  the  roaring  breakfast-room,  that,  like  a  remorseless  Ni 
agara,  wailed  for  them  below.  All  the  world  was  hungry,-  save 
the  watcher  at  the  door  of  No.  42.  He  alone  required  neither 
food  nor  rest.  So  eleven  o'clock  came  along  and  no  change. 
"  Mr.  Bloodstone  must  have  left  the  town,"  thought,  and  even 
muttered,  the  bronze  sentinel  over  against  his  gate.  And  now 
the  sleepless  man  began  to  show  signs  of  a  change  in  temper. 
He  no  longer  sat  as  still  as  at  first,  and  his  face  began  to  grow 
haggard  and  more  pale.  His  hands,  which  had  all  night  long 
been  buried  deep  in  the  pockets  of  his  sack-coat,  would  at  times 
be  brought  forth  with  a  convulsive  movement,  and  passed  across 
his  eyes,  as  if  to  clear  away  some  obstruction  to  his  vision; 
When  they  came  forth,  they  were  not  open  and  swinging,  but 
were  clenched  into  the  form  of  fists.  The  lines  on  his  face  were 
deeper  and  more  marked  than  before,  and  his  feet  could  no  long 
er  remain  still,  but  would  insist  upon  striking  the  floor,  at  times 


350  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

fiercely.  He  was  growing  impatient.  The  gentleman  for  whom 
he  was  waiting  was  staying  out  so  late,  that  even  his  endurance 
was  being  put  to  a  severe  test.  At  twelve  o'clock  his  face 
brightened  for  a  moment,  and  then  took  on  a  perplexed  look. 
Two  gentlemen  walked  along  the  hall,  tov/ards  No.  47.  One 
of  them  was  Mr.  Enoch  Bloodstone,  and  the  other  was  Mr. 
Marvin  Withergreen.  They  did  not  separate  at  Bloodstone's 
door,  but  both  entered  it.  The  watcher  hesitated.  He  had 
evidently  found  something  more  than  he  had  searched  for.  For 
two  more  mortal  hours  he  waited  for  Mr.  Withergreen  to  come 
out  of  Bloodstone's  room.  But  in  vain.  His  business  must  be 
important  and  lengthy.  At  last  the  watcher  looked  at  the  time 
again,  a  thing  he  had  done  every  ten  minutes  all  night  and  day. 
It  was  after  two  o'clock,  and  he  had  only  taken  No.  42  for  one 
day,  and  he  desired  to  go  away  by  the  steamer  at  four.  He 
arose  with  a  look  that  showed  him  to  have  come  to  a  decision. 

"  I  can't  wait  any  longer,"  he  muttered,  "  I  must  talk  to  them 
both  together,"  and,  so  saying,  he  stepped  into  the  hall,  and 
carefully  closed  the  door  after  him.  In  another  instant  he  was 
at  No.  47.  He  knocked,  but  did  not  wait  to  be  invited  to  en 
ter.  He  turned  the  knob  and  walked  in,  closing  the  door 
again. 

"  Good  morning,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  politely  addressing  the 
inmates  of  the  room,  who  were  sitting  talking  in  a  confidential 
manner  near  the  bed.  Both  of  them  started  at  the  instrusion, 
but  returned  his  salute. 

"  You  remember  me,  I  suppose,  gentlemen.  I  am  Colonel 
Greathouse,  of  Washoe.  You,  Mr.  Withergreen,  once  invited 
me  to  call  and  see  you,  when  I  should  come  this  way.  Indeed, 
I  have  your  card  in  my  pocket  at  this  moment." 

Mr.  Withergreen  acknowledged  the  fact,  and  was  glad  to  see 
Colonel  Greathouse.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  this  is  not  my  apartment 
where  we  now  are.  I  would  be  glad  to  see  Colonel  Greathouse 
in  my  own  apartment,  No.  78,  on  the  same  floor,  at  any  time 
when  he  is  at  leisure  to  call." 

This  was  said  in  a  tone,  and  with  a  manner,  intended  to  dis 
miss  the  intruder.  But  it  failed. 

"  Yes,  I  understand  that,  Mr.  Withergreen ;  I  was  aware  of 
the  ownership  of  the  room.  But  I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to 
Mr.  Bloodstone,  which,  until  this  moment,  I  intended  to  say  to 
him  privately." 

"Indeed,"  cried  Mr.  Withergreen,  "in  that  case  I  will  step 
out  and  leave  you  to  talk  to  him." 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


351 


Here  the  president  of  the  Pactolus  made  a  movement  to  carry 
his  promise  into  effect. 

"No,"  said  Greathouse,  stepping  backwards  to  the  door  and 
putting  his  shoulders  against  it.  "What  I  was  going  to  say  to 
Mr.  Bloodstone  in  private,  I  have  now  concluded  to  say  to  you 
both  together.  Gentlemen,  I  can  say  all  that  I  have  to  say  to 
you  two  in  about  ten  minutes.  If  you  will  listen  to  me  atten 
tively,  perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  do  it  in  five  ;  but  it  all  depends 
upon  how  attentive  you  both  are." 

Both  the  gentlemen  stood  up  and  commenced  saying,  some 
thing  about  being  engaged  with  important  matters  at  that  mo 
ment,  and  would  like  to  defer  Colonel  Greathouse' s  business  for 
an  hour  or  so,  or  until  evening. 

"You  both  have,  I  am  quite  sure,  gentlemen,  much  impor 
tant  business  to  occupy  your  time.  All  San  Francisco  people 
are  overrun  with  business,  I  am  told.  But  I  have  come  a  great 
distance  to  say  my  little  speech  to  you,  and  I  also  am  pressed 
for  time.  If  1  am  to  be  listened  to  at  all,  gentlemen,  I  must  be 
listened  to  now,"  and  here  he  dropped  his  voice  to  a  tone  lower 
and  more  even  than  any  he  had  used  before,  and  continued,  "  I 
am  going  to  be  listened  to  now,  and  it  will  be  better  for  all  of 
us,  you  and  myself  as  well,  if  you  understand  that  at  once." 

Here  he  took  his  right  hand  from  his  side  pocket,  and  turned 
the  key  in  the  lock,  and,  removing  it,  dropped  it  into  the  pocket 
from  which  he  had  taken  his  hand.  When  it  fell  the  two  gen 
tlemen  observed  that  it  gave  forth  a  ringing  sound,  suggestive 
that  it  had  struck  against  some  substance  of  a  metallic  nature 
already  there. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Colonel  Greathouse,"  demanded 
Withergreen,  for  Bloodstone,  pale  as  a  ghost,  was  already  speech 
less. 

"  It  means,"  said  Greathouse,  in  a  voice,  if  possibly  still  low 
er  and  more  determined,  "  that  I  have  a  few  words  to  s£y  to 
you  two,  and  that  I  am  going  to  say  them  now.  I  am,  gentle 
men,  going  to  say  them  to  you  here  on  this  spot.  I  have  come 
a  long  distance  to  talk  to  you,  and  have  not  much  time  to  lose. 
I  don't  want  to  be  interrupted,  and  I  am  not  going  to  be  inter 
rupted.  Such  being  the  fact,  it  is  only  just  to  you  both  to  tell 
you  precisely  what  I  am  going  to  do.  I  am  going  to  ask  you 
two  gentlemen  to  resume  your  seats  where  you  were  sitting 
when  I  came  in.  When  that  is  done,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to 
give  me  your  undivided  and  silent  attention,  to  what  I  am  going 
to  say  for  about  ten  minutes.  If  you  do  not  do  as  I  ask  you, 


352  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

if  you  refuse,  if  you  get  up  from  your  chairs,  if  you  offer  or  at 
tempt  to  leave  the  room,  or  to  call  the  attention  of  anybody 
by  so  much  as  a  motion  or  a  sound ;  then  I  am  going  to  send  a 
bullet  through  each  of  your  gizzards,"  and  here  he  withdrew  his 
hands  from  his  coat  pockets,  and  showed  in  each  an  enormous 
Derringer  pistol,  loaded  and  cocked,  while  he  held  a  forefinger 
upon  the  trigger  of  each,  "and  when  the  bullets  have  come  out 
of  your  two  backs,  as  they  will,  there  will  be  very  little  of  either 
of  you  left,  except  the  holes  that  I  will  make  in  your  two  car 
cases.  Now  gentlemen,  do  you  understand  what  Bob  Great- 
house  intends  to  do  ?  " 

Here  he  stuck  the  pistols  straight  at  the  two.  They  were  al 
ready  at  full  cock,  as  both  could  see  only  too  plainly.  Neither 
spoke.  And  after  a  pause  of  half  a  minute,  Greathouse  con 
tinued,  — • 

"  Very  well,  then,  sit  down  and  we  will  begin." 

The  two  men  sat  down  close  together  without  a  word,  while 
Greathouse  took  his  place  in  front  of  them,  standing  up. 

"  Thank  you,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  when  they  were  seated,  "  I 
am  glad  to  see  that  we  can  understand  each  other.  These  pis 
tols  have  never  failed  me,  and,  as  perhaps  you  two  may  be  aware, 
I  have  made  one  time  and  another  a  very  considerable  use  of 
them.  More  perhaps  than  has  been  good  for  me.  But  that  is 
a  question  that  is  now  too  late  in  life  with  me  to  begin  to  dis 
cuss.  It  will  be  well  for  you,  gentlemen,  to  understand  just 
what  I  can  and  will  do  with  them,  if  you  should  oblige  me  to  do 
it.  It  may  not  be  out  of  place  also  for  me  to  add,  that  I  have 
other  resources  besides  these  firearms." 

Here  he  put  his  hand  to  the  back  of  his  neck,  and  drew  out 
an  enormous  bowie-knife.  It  was  at  least  twelve  inches  in 
length,  with  a  hollow  along  the  back  filled  with  quicksilver  to 
give  it  weight. 

"  You  see  this  instrument,  gentlemen,  like  the  fire-arms.  I 
would  use  this  upon  you  most  reluctantly.  But  if  you  disoblige 
me  in  my  request,  I  give  you  the  word  of  Robert  Greathouse, 
which  has  never  been  voluntarily  broken,  that  after  I  have  ex 
hausted  my  Derringers  I  will  stick  this  knife  into  each  of  you 
up  to  the  handle  one  at  a  time." 

Here  his  voice  got  so  low  that  for  fear  he  might  not  be  heard 
he  approached  within  two  feet  of  the  men's  faces,  and  stooped 
down  so  as  to  be  heard  more  distinctly,  and  added,  in  a  fierce 
whisper,  — 


ROBERT   GREATIIOUSE.  353 

"  And  before  I  pull  it  out,  by  God  !  I  will  turn  it  around  in 
you  both." 

This  he  said  stooping  over  and  gazing  in  the  eyes  of  the  two 
wretches  who  sat  mute  before  him.  Being  at  last  satisfied  with 
the  expression  of  both,  he  stood  up  and  continued  in  an  altered 
tone. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  think  you  now  understand  me. 
If  so,  it  is  a  very  fortunate  thing  for  all  of  us.  No  harm  can 
come  to  you,  if  you  listen  to  me  ;  but  I  must  be  heard.  There 
will  be  no  occasion  for  either  of  you  to  speak,  or  not  at  least 
till  I  desire  you  to  do  so.  What  1  have  to  say  is  a  matter  that 
comes  from  me  to  you,  and  nothing  that  either  of  you  could 
suggest  can  throw  any  light  upon  the  matter,  or  aid  me  in  the 
least.  If  you  will  allow  me,  gentlemen,  1  will  sit  down." 

So  saying,  he  drew  a  chair  in  front  of  the  two  speechless 
gentlemen,  and  sat  down  composedly  in  it,  facing  them  and 
crossing  his  hands  upon  his  lap  with  a  Derringer  in  each. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  continued,  "  this  is  my  first  visit  to  a  city, 
and  I  have  come  upon  so  absurd  a  business  that  I  am  quite 
sure,  even  if  I  should  get  out  of  it  with  my  life,  which  is  exceed 
ingly  improbable,  that  it  will  be  my  last  one.  I  have  come 
down  here  upon  one  of  the  most  senseless  and  foolish  expedi 
tions  that  a  man  at  the  age  of  maturity  ever  embarked  upon. 
I  have  come  to  make  an  effort  to  do  a  thing  so  impracticable, 
so  surrounded  by  obstacles  of  an  unsurmountable  nature,  that 
there  is  not  a  child  of  ten  years  old  living  to-day  who  would 
not  pronounce  it  impossible,  and  myself  a  proper  person  to  be 
sent  to  a  lunatic  asylum,  for  thinking  of  it.  I  do  not  expect  to 
succeed  in  the  enterprise,  gentlemen  ;  I  can  no  more  control 
circumstances  than  any  other  man.  I  have  come  with  the 
fixed  belief  that  I  am  going  to  fail.  But  I  have  also  come  with 
just  as  settled  a  determination  that  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  I 
do.  If  you  will  allow  me,  gentleman,  I  will  now  explain  to 
you  what  the  absurd  enterprise  that  brings  me  to  this  city, 
where  I  am  such  a  stranger,  consists  of.  1  will  make  my  story 
as  short  as  possible,  so  as  not  to  tire  you.  Pardon  me  if  I  be 
gin  by  telling  you  something  about  myself,  to  show  how  I  came 
into  this  absurd  adventure.  What  my  life  has  been,  gentlemen, 
you  both  know.  It  has  not  been  a  useful  life  ;  judged  by  the 
standard  of  many  good  men,  it  has  not  been  even  a  creditable 
one.  But  such  as  it  has  been,  I  can  not  now  alter  it.  I  am 
not  quite  sure  that  I  would  do  so  if  I  could.  I  sometimes  wish 
that  I  could  add  a  little  good  to  the  record,  so  as  to  make  a 


354:  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

better  average ;  but  I  would  not  go  out  of  my  way  to  reduce 
the  amount  of  harm  that  I  may  have  done.  A  few  months  ago 
I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  family  journeying  from  this  city 
to  the  territory  of  Washoe.  How  I  made  their  acquaintance 
is  not  important,  and  I  will  not  take  up  your  time  with  it.  It 
is  enough  to  say  they  were  respectable  people.  Not  more  so 
than  myself  by  origin,  but  by  their  habits  fit  to  associate  with 
men  at  least  more  peaceful  than  I  am.  This  family  consisted 
of  an  old  gentleman,  his  wife,  and  one  daughter.  They  are 
known,  gentlemen,  I  believe,  to  both  of  you.  It  was  Mr.  Ed- 
mond  Graham  and  his  family.  I  had  never  in  my  wild  and 
desperate  career  met  with  such  people  before.  My  life,  as  you 
are  both  aware,  had  been  passed  upon  the  border  where  such 
people  do  not  often  find  their  way.  They  treated  me  so  kind 
ly,  that  I  soon  became  attached  to  them  all.  The  young  lady 
way  beautiful,  very  beautiful,  and  1  will  not  conceal  from  you 
two  gentlemen,  who  have  both  seen  her  and  perhaps  know  her 
well,  that  I  soon  became  very  much  in  love  with  her.  And, 
gentlemen,  I  arn  so  at  this  moment.  But  my  habits  of  life,  my 
standing  in  the  community,  precluded  me  from  hoping  to  ever 
make  that  lady  my  wife.  It  was  impossible,  and  I  must,  my 
own  judgment  told  me,  dismiss  the  matter  from  my  mind.  I 
did  so  some  time  ago,  and  went  away  upon  an  expedition 
against  the  Indians.  Two  days  ago  I  returned  to  Virginia  City, 
and  heard  positively  what  I  had  already  heard  by  rumor,  that 
the  lady  who  possessed  my  heart  was  in  deep  trouble.  I  went 
to  see  her  and  ascertained  the  cause.  It  was  a  sad  and  touch 
ing  story  that  was  told  me.  During  my  absence  her  father  had 
suddenly  disappeared,  — fled,  it  was  said,  to  avoid  the  clamors 
of  creditors  whose  demands  he  was  unable  to  satisfy.  Under 
the  shock  of  this  calamity  her  mother  sank,  and  in  a  week  died. 
As  if  these  afflictions  were  not  enough  to  fill  to  overflowing  the 
cup  of  sorrow  left  to  the  destitute  orphan,  she  at  the  same  time 
became  in  some  manner  satisfied  that  her  father  had  not  fled 
from  the  country,  as  was  generally  believed,  but  that,  on  the 
contrary,  he  was,  and  she  thinks  he  at  this  moment  is,  a  prison 
er,  dragging  out  a  miserable  and  hopeless  existence,  perhaps 
slowly  perishing  at  the  bottom  of  his  own  mine.  Don't  inter 
rupt  me,  Mr.  Bloodstone,"  he  said,  pointing  the  pistol  at  that 
gentleman  with  a  graceful  wave,  not  menacingly,  but  simply 
because  the  weapon  was  in  his  hand  and  waved  with  it.  "To 
speak  will  only  cause  an  unnecessary  consumption  of  your  val 
uable  time.  To  resume,  gentlemen. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  355 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  come  to  this  city  for.  I  have 
come  to  ask  you  two  gentlemen  to  go  with  me  to  Washoe  to 
the  Graham  mine,  and  let  Mr.  Graham  out  of  it  and  go  to  his 
daughter.  In  order  to  induce  you  to  comply  with  my  request, 
I  will  tell  you  precisely  what  I  am  going  to  do.  As  you  seem, 
by  something  very  like  a  misfortune,  to  have  fallen  upon  my 
hands  in  a  couple,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  both  together  to  go 
voluntarily  with  me  out  of  this  house  and  down  to  the  steamer 
which  sails  at  four  o'clock.  I  will  ask  you  to  go  on  board  that 
steamer,  and  so  to  Sacramento,  where  we  will  take  the  train, 
and  thence  by  railroad  and  stage-coach  we  will  journey  to  the 
Graham  mine  in  Washoe.  There  I  shall  ask  you  to  let  me  put 
you  into  the  cage  of  that  mine  and  go  down  the  shaft,  I  going 
with  you,  to  the  bottom." 

Mr.  Bloodstone  offered  to  speak  ;  but  Greathouse  stopped 
him  peremptorily  with  a  wave  of  his  pistol. 

"Don't  offer  to  speak  again,  Mr.  Bloodstone,  without  orders, 
or  I  warn  you  I  shall  stop  your  tongue  abruptly  and  finally. 
When  we  reach  the  bottom  of  the  mine,  we  will  make  diligent 
search  for  the  missing  gentleman,  for  the  space  of  exactly 
thirty  minu  tes,  measured  by  a  watch.  If  at  the  end  of  that 
time  we  shall  not  have  found  him,  I  shall  put  my  Derringers  to 
your  heads,  and  blow  both  of  your  brains  out,  and  leave  you 
there.  This  I  shall  not  ask  your  consent  to,  but  will  do  it  at 
the  end  of  the  time  without  any  discussion  upon  the  matter.  I 
shall  only  expect  you  to  walk  close  side  by  side  wherever  you 
go,  letting  me  come  four  feet  behind  you.  You  must  not  sepa 
rate  ;  you  must  not  go  to  any  place  where  I  cannot  follow  you  • 
you  must  not  permit  a  crowd  of  people  to  surround  you,  so  as  to 
get  between  you  and  myself,  and,  above  all,  you  must  speak  no 
word  nor  make  any  sign  that  will  cause  anybody  to  suspect  what 
has  occurred  between  us.  Remembering  these  injunctions,  you 
can  now  ring  the  bell  and  make  known  your  wants.  You  can, 
if  you  choose,  send  for  whom  you  please,  and  transact  such 
matters  as  you  like.  As  for  you,  Mr.  Withergreen,  if  you  wish 
to  send  for  your  family,  to  take  leave  of  them,  do  so  by  all 
means  ;  I  shall  make  no  sort  of  objection.  I  think  it  would  be 
a  pity  to  go  upon  a  journey  long  at  the  very  least,  and  which 
may  be  perpetual,  without  bidding  adieu  to  them.  I  feel  how 
utterly  powerless  I  am  to  carry  out  my  enterprise  without  your 
joint  concurrence.  My  life  is  as  much  imperilled  as  yours, 
precisely,  and  all  depends  upon  our  acting  together.  Remem 
bering  what  I  have  told  you,  and  avoiding  what  I  have  asked 


356  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

you  to  avoid,  your  two  lives  are  the  safest  lives  to-day  in 
San  Francisco.  I  will  defend  you  against  any  enemy  that  can 
attack  you,  and  with  the  last  drop  of  my  blood.  Should  the 
steamer  take  fire  I  will  take  you  upon  my  back  as  a  precious 
treasure,  and  swim  with  you  to  the  land.  I  will  keep  you, 
gentlemen,  as  the  apple  of  my  eye.  If  you  were  my  brothers, 
my  children,  I  could  not  take  more  care  of  you  than  I  shall  if 
you  go  with  me.  The  success  of  my  enterprise  depends  upon 
my  taking  you  safely  to  Washoe.  If  I  do  not  succeed  1  do 
not  wish  to  live  longer.  Failure  to  me  is  worse  than  death. 
If  I  am  to  succeed,  you  are  to  me  worth  more  than  diamonds 
and  pearls,  for  without  you  I  cannot  win  the  prize  that  has 
been  laid  before  me.  But  don't,  gentlemen,  if  you  value  your 
existence,  misunderstand  Greathouse,  and  think  he  wants  to 
come  out  of  this  affair  with  his  life.  He  does  .not.  I  would 
not  walk  to  the  door  to  save  my  life  at  this  moment.  If  I 
don't  get  Mr.  Graham  out  of  that  mine,  I  don't  want  to  live 
any  longer,  and  if  you  will  believe  me,  gentlemen,  I  don't 
intend  that  you  shall.  If  Mr.  Graham  should  happen  to  be  in 
that  mine  by  any  chance,  and  we  can  find  him,  you  are  both  as 
free  from  danger  as  a  king  in  his  palace  and  surrounded  with 
an  army  of  faithful  guards.  If  he  is  not  there  then  you  are 
both  booked  for  kingdom  come  now  and  there  is  no  use  trying 
to  escape.  For,  gentlemen,  Greathouse  has  got  you  and  he  is 
going  to  take  you  into  camp  this  very  trip."  This  was  said  with 
a  tone  so  low  and  so  intensely  earnest  that  both  gentlemen 
turned  even  more  pale  than  ever.  Bloodstone  was  wholly 
speechless  with  fright. 

"  Mr.  Withergreen,"  continued  Greathouse,  in  a  relaxed 
voice,  "  you  may  now  speak  upon  the  subject  of  whom  you  wish 
to  see  before  we  start." 

The  gentleman  addressed  considered  for  a  short  time.  It 
was  evident  that  neither  of  them  had  for  a  moment  doubted  the 
earnestness  of  Greathouse  It  was  certain  from  the  first  that 
precisely  what  he  said  he  would  do,  that  he  would  surely  do. 
Such  being  the  case,  to  hesitate  was  to  perish  instantly,  and 
each  knew  it.  They  both  knew  that  Greathouse  had  never  en 
tered  into  the  great  city  upon  any  child's  play,  or  for  purposes 
of  idle  boasting.  It  was  utterly  at  variance  with  his  character. 
This  each  knew  only  too  well,  and  acting  upon  it  they  had  sur 
rendered  at  the  first  summons. 

"  Colonel  Greathouse,"  said  Withergreen,  "  I  do  not  dare  to 
see  anybody  for  fear  of  some  misunderstanding.  If  my  people 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  357 

should  come  about  me,  you  might  fancy  that  I  was  doing  some 
thing  looking  to  an  escape,  and  might  hastily  destroy  me  as 
well  as  Mr.  Bloodstone.  Again,  Mr.  Bloodstone  might  incon 
siderately  do  something  that  would  involve  us  both  in  destruc 
tion.  I  think  it  would  be  better  to  proceed  at  once  to  the 
steamer.  For  my  part,  I  am  willing  to  go  with  you." 

"  A  very  sensible  conclusion,  Mr.  Withergreen,  for  I  admit 
that  I  might  make  the  mistake  you  suggest,  and  it  is  better  to 
avoid  it  if  possible.  What  say  you,  Mr.  Bloodstone  ?  " 

Bloodstone  could  not  open  his  mouth.     He  was  completely 
terror-stricken.     But  the  signs  he  could  make  indicated  his  ac-  ^ 
quiescence  in  Mr.  Withergreen' s  plan. 

"  Very  well,  gentlemen,  let  us  be  moving,  then.  Now  I 
should  be  very  sorry  indeed  to  overthrow  my  own  plans  and  to 
destroy  your  lives  by  any  sort  of  mistake,  so  I  suggest  that  you 
take  each  other's  arms,  and  go  directly  out  of  the  house.  There 
we  will  take  the  first  carnage  we  can  find,  and  proceed  at  once 
to  the  steamer.  Does  this  accord  with  your  own  judgment, 
gentlemen  ?  " 

Both  signified  their  approval,  and  so  it  was  done.  Wither 
green  bore  up  firm  and  steady,  and  offered  his  arm  to  Blood 
stone.  But  that  gentleman  was  quite  broken  down.  All  his  >/" 
conceit,  which  was  his  most  notable  characteristic,  was  gone. 
He  could  scarcely  stand,  much  less  talk,  as  he  usually  was  so 
ready  to  do.  But  he  contrived  to  hook  on  to  the  arm  of  his 
leader,  the  president  of  the  Pactolus,  and  so  they  marched  out 
of  the  door ;  Greathouse,  with  both  hands  in  his  pockets,  hold 
ing,  as  was  his  custom,  his  cocked  Derringers,  marching  after 
them  at  four  feet  distance.  As  they  passed  out  of  the  hotel, 
Dick,  the  bell-boy,  ran  after  Greathouse,  and  called  to  him,  — 

"Don't  you  want  your  baggage,  Colonel  Greathouse?" 

"  No,  Dick,"  said  that  gentleman,  "  1  shall  be  back  in  a  day 
or  two ;  you  can  keep  it  for  me  till  I  come  again." 

As  they  marched  through  the  street  to  the  carriage,  no  one 
saw  anything  unusual  in  the  appearance  of  the  party.  The  two 
friends  took  the  back  seat,  and  Greathouse  sat  facing  them. 
In  a  half  hour,  they  were  on  the  steamer,  bound  up  the  bay. 
The  two,  under  Greathouse' s  orders,  took  a  state-room  together, 
and  at  once  went  to  bed,  though  it  was  only  half-past  four 
o'clock.  That  done,  Greathouse  looked  in  first  to  satisfy  him 
self  that  there  was  no  back  door  by  which  they  might  escape  ; 
then  he  took  his  seat  in  front  of  their  room  in  a  stiff  chair,  and 


358  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

so  sat  patiently,  upright  as  he  had  done  before  in  No.  42,  and 
without  closing  his  eyes  once  all  night,  watching  his  prisoners. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

SIX    HOURS    AHEAD    OF    TIME. 

AT  eight  o'clock  the  following  morning  the  train  from  Sacra 
mento  reached  the  station  at  Fplsom. 

Jack  Gowdy  was  in  his  place  upon  the  box  of  his  coach,  but 
he  did  not  shout  as  lustily  as  usual  for  the  passengers  to  take 
their  seats  for  Virginia.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  unusually 
quiet.  He  looked  anxiously  from  time  to  time,  not  at  the 
passengers  who  were  crowding  over  the  platform  near  to  him, 
but  at  the  stream  that  still  poured  out  of  the  station  door.  He 
evidently  expected  some  one.  Though  he  had  not  called  for 
passengers  to  take  their  places  in  the  coach,  two  or  three  had 
done  so  without  invitation.  At  last  his  face  brightened  up,  as 
he  saw  Greathouse  coming  out  of  the  station  door,  walking  be 
hind  two  gentlemen,  each  dressed  in  black  coats  and  hats. 
When  they  reached  the  coach,  Greathouse  shouted  to  Jack,  — 

"  I  say,  driver,  did  you  get  my  telegram,  asking  for  an  extra 
coach  to  take  a  party  of  gentlemen  over  to  Virginia  ?  " 

"  All  right,  sir  ! "  cried  Jack,  "  this  is  the  coach  that  has  been 
reserved  for  you." 

"But,"  said  Greathouse,  looking  in  at  the  door,  "you  have 
allowed  some  gentlemen  to  get  into  my  private  coach." 

"  Have  I  ?  "  said  Jack,  looking  down  at  the  window.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  sir,  it  is  a  mistake.  Gentlemen,"  he  cried,  to  the 
passengers,  who  were  already  seated,  "you  have  made  a  mis 
take.  This  is  a  private  coach,  engaged  by  this  gentleman  in 
advance.  You  must  get  out. " 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?  "  said  the  passengers,  at  the  same  time 
coming  out,  and  looking  very  angry  and  dissatisfied. 

"  There  will  be  another  coach  here  in  a  few  minutes,"  said 
Jack  ;  "just  wait  five  minutes,  and  you  will  be  provided  for. 
Jump  in,  Colonel  Greathouse,  with  your  friends." 


ROBERT   GREATIIOUSE.  359 

Greathouse  opened  the  door,  and  Bloodstone  and  Wither- 
green  entered  and  took  the  back  seat.  Greathouse  sat  in  front 
of  them,  and  shouted  to  Jack,  — 

"  All  right !     Go  ahead  ! " 

In  an  instant  the  six  mustangs  at  a  full  run  were  turning  the 
corner  that  led  into  the  main  road  over  the  mountains.  The 
two  passengers  turned  pale,  for  the  coach  in  going  around  the 
corner  tilted  over,  so  that  but  two  wheels  touched  the  ground. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  gentlemen,"  said  Greathouse.  "  It  is 
Jack  Gowdy  on  the  box,  and  he  knows  how  to  handle  horses  as 
well  as  any  man  that  ever  cracked  a  whip." 

But  it  did  look  like  a  runaway  team  as  the  horses  dashed  fu 
riously  by  the  stage  office,  and  so  out  of  the  town  on  the 
Washoe  road.  The  stage  agent  rushed  out  to  see  the  coach  go 
by,  and  then  went  in  again  with  a  long  face. 

"  Dull  times,"  said  he  to  his  assistant  "  Gowdy  has  gone 
over  with  only  three  passengers,  and  I  believe  he  is  drunk 
again.  If  he  is,  he  will  kill  more  stock  than  his  head  is  worth 
before  he  gets  to  Virginia.  The  company  can't  stand  that  sort 
of  thing  long." 

Jack  laid  on  the  whip  with  might  and  main,  wondering  all  the 
while  why  Greathouse  had  taken  it  into  his  head  to  have  the 
coach  all  to  himself.  "  It  is  all  right,"  muttered  he,  as  he 
cracked  his  whip  and  thundered  along  ;  "  but  ifr  would  have  been 
just  as  easy  to  have  told  me  that  he  wanted  the  empty  coach, 
and  then  I  could  have  made  my  arrangements  to  meet  such  a 
case." 

When  they  had  got  well  into  the  mountains,  Bob  called  out 
to  stop.  Jack  pulled  up,  and  Greathouse  came  out  and 
mounted  up  with  him. 

"Jack,  could  you  not,  by  pushing  things,  take  us  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Graham  mine  before  daylight  to-morrow  morn- 
ing?" 

Jack  looked  amazed  at  the  bare  idea.    . 

"  The  whole  thing  may  turn  on  our  doing  it." 

;i  But,  Bob,  it  will  kill  the  horses." 

"  How  many,  Jack  ?  " 

"Well,  we  change  ten  times  between  here  and  the  mine, 
taking  six  fresh  horses  at  each  change  ;  it  is  easily  calculated. 
I  should  say  it  would  kill  about  sixty." 

"  Well,  kill  them,  Jack,  but  take  us  in  by  daylight." 

"  I  don't  like  to  murder  horse-tlesh,  Bob." 

"  You  would  rather  do  it  than  to  kill  human  beings,  would 
you  not,  Jack  ?  " 

"  That  depends  a  good  deal  upon  who  the  human  beings  are. 


360  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

What  sort  of  stock  ;  you  understand.  If  they  were  decent  peo 
ple,  I  might  kill  the  horses  first,  Bob." 

"  That  is  about  where  the  thing  is  coming  to,  Jack  ;  I  sus 
pect  you  will  have  to  choose  between  killing  people,  and  pretty 
good  people  at  that,  and  killing  horses." 

"  In  that  case,  Bob,  I  will  try  to  send  my  team  as  fast  as  I 
can." 

"  Very  well  Jack,  let  them  go.  Don't  trifle  away  your  time 
on  this  road  ;  it  is  not  a  pleasant  one  to  me,  and  never  was." 

Here  Greathouse  descended  to  the  interior  of  the  coach,  and 
resumed  his  seat  in  front  of  Withergreen  and  Bloodstone.  They 
had  been  going  fast  before,  but  now  they  flew  at  a  fearful  speed. 
At  each  station  for  changing  horses,  Greathouse  could  see  the 
stable-men  leading  away  the  poor  beasts,  and  looking  at  them 
with  amazement.  Jack  had  but  one  explanation  for  his  haste, 
which  he  gave  at  all  the  stables.  "I  am  going  over  on  a  race 
with  the  other  line ;  we  are  trying  to  beat  the  Henness  Pass 
stage  line  to  Virginia.  Our  president  has  made  a  big  bet  with 
theirs,  that  we  can  beat  them,  and  my  orders  are  not  to  spare 
horse-flesh." 

This  was  not  an  unusual  thing ;  such  bets  and  races  being  of 
common  occurrence,  so  that  the  people  along  the  road  were 
satisfied.  The  boys  at  the  stable  remarked  the  small  number 
of  passengers,  aixl  thought  their  own  line  would  win. 

"Jack  has  tricked  the  other  side,"  said  they,  "by  getting 
away  with  only  three  people  in  his  coach." 

They  passed  Strawberry  in  the  afternoon,  and  as  night  came 
on  were  deep  in  the  Sierras,  and  pushing  on  for  Lake  Bigler. 

"  We  are  all  right  till  seven  o'clock,"  said  Jack  to  Greathousej 
who  was  taking  a  short  ride  on  the  box  with  the  driver,  but 
keeping,  as  he  did  all  the  time,  a  sharp  lookout  down  at  the 
door  of  the  coach.  "  But  about  that  hour,  the  agent  will  come 
into  Folsom  from  Sacramento,  and  then  the  murder  will  be  out. 
Now  is  the  time  to  cut  the  telegraph  wires.  That  may  give  us 
three  or  four  hours  more,  and  after  that,  the  devil  must  take 
care  of  his  own." 

"  Very  well,  let  us  do  it  now,  while  we  have  a  good  chance," 
said  Greathouse,  standing  up  on  the  top  of  the  coach.  Just  at 
that  point  there  was  a  place  where  the  wires  hung  lower  than 
usual. 

"  Drive  under  it  and  stop,  Jack." 

This  the  driver  did,  and  in  an  instant  Greathouse  was  tug 
ging  at  the  wires  with  all  his  force. 


ROBERT  G  RE  ATI!  0  USE.  361 

"  It  is  too  strong  for  me,  Jack.  Can  you  throw  your  weight 
upon  it?  I  don't  like  to  trouble  our  friends  in  the  coach,  but  1 
will  have  to  do  it  if  we  can't  break  down  the  wires  without 
them." 

Jack  stood  up,  holding  his  lines  with  one  hand,  and  swung  his 
weight  upon  the  iron.  It  broke,  rattling  down  upon  the  coach 
with  such  a  noise  that  the  horses  became  frightened,  and  Jack 
was  obliged  to  let  them  run. 

"  Send  them,"  cried  Greathouse,  "  the  wire  is  broken  down 
for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and,  if  they  were  to  commence  now, 
they  could  not  put  it  up  again  under  an  hour." 

At  midnight,  they  were  galloping  with  a  fresh  team  along 
the  south  end  of  Lake  Bigler,  and  making  fine  speed ;  but  at 
this  point  the  weather,  which  had  been  fine,  suddenly  changed, 
and  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents.  Before  they  reached  the 
Glenbrook  House,  the  horses  were  splashing  through  pools  of 
water  that  filled  the  road.  Here  they  changed  horses  again 
without  difficulty.  The  cutting  of  the  wires  had  protected 
them,  and  Jack's  story  of  the  race  was  received  without  ques 
tion. 

"  You  are  making  wonderful  speed,"  said  the  station-master. 
"  You  are  sure  to  win  the  race,  for  you  are  now  more  than  six 
hours  ahead  of  time." 

"  I  shall  try  my  best." 

"  I  will  make  the  pace  so  lively  that  they  won't  think  much 
about  trying  to  escape  from  this  coach,"  muttered  Jack  to  hirn- 
"self. 

The  brake  was  left  untouched,  and  the  vehicle  pushing  upon 
the  horses  sent  them  flying  down  the  grade  with  fearful  rapidity. 
It  was  not  driving  that  Jack  now  did.  It  was  too  dark  to  drive. 
He  could  only  hold  the  lines  in  his  hand  and  let  the  horses  fol 
low  their  own  instinct.  True,  they  would  not  go  over  the  preci 
pice  of  their  own  accord  •  but  they  might  go  so  near  the  edge 
at  any  moment  as  to  let  the  coach  fall  over.  Jack  held  his 
breath,  but  sat  firm. 

"  There  is  no  help  for  it,"  he  thought.  "  Poor  Bob  is  no 
better  than  a  dead  man  now,  and  if  the  thieves  are  not  fright 
ened  out  of  their  wits,  they  may  rise  on  us  at  any  moment  and 
take  possession.  I  must  scare  them  out  of  all  idea  of  resist 
ance  or  escape." 

And  so  they  thundered  along  the  narrow  shelf  cut  in  the 
mountain-side,  at  the  rate  of  sixteen  miles  an  hour,  trusting  all 
to  the  instinct  of  six  mustang  horses.  ^f^^\B 

" 


302  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

At  each  half  minute  a  gleam  of  lightning  would  blaze  forth, 
and  show  them  the  yawning  gulf,  fifteen  hundred  feet  deep, 
along  the  very  edge  of  which  they  were  madly  rushing.  So, 
round  and  round,  they  twisted  and  curved  with  the  spurs  and 
angle  of  the  mountain,  at  times  running  out  upon  a  projecting 
point,  at  the  end  of  which,  seemingly,  nothing  but  wings  could 
rescue  them  from  the  fearful  plunge  that  lay  beyond ;  but,  just 
as  the  leap  was  to  be  taken,  the  jaunty  lead  horses  would  turn 
a  sharp  corner  of  the  projecting  wall,  followed  by  the  others, 
and  at  last  the  coach  itself  would  sway  over  the  abyss,  and 
then,  with  a  roll  and  a  swing,  follow  the  flying  horses  along  the 
ledge,  still  in  safety. 

Each  minute  seemed  to  Jack  an  age. 

"  The  next  turn  will  catch  us,  dead  sure,"  he  thought. 

And  he  knew  but  too  well  every  point,  every  turnout  and  every 
angle  of  special  danger  on  the  whole  road  as  well  as  a  pilot 
knows  the  shoals,  rocks,  and  quicksands  over  which  he  must 
navigate. 

"  The  devil  himself  could  not  turn  such  a  corner  at  this 
pace ! " 

But  somehow  they  did  turn  them,  and  kept  on  turning  as 
fast  as  they  came  to  them,  till  Jack  began  to  mutter  to  himself 
that  the  devil,  after  having  given  him  so  many  hard  kicks,  was 
surely  in  a  friendly  mood  that  night 

"  The  old  blackguard  is  not  such  a  sneak  after  all.  He  is 
standing  by  his  own,  for  this  once." 

That  any  higher  power  would  ever  condescend  to  look  after 
so  insignificant  a  person  as  himself,  never  entered  Jack's  mind. 
His  dealings  were  exclusively  with  the  devil.  It  might  be  well 
enough  for  good  respectable  people  to  make  application  to  an 
other  quarter.  Jack  would  have  done  the  same  had  he  felt  that 
he  could  make  any  reasonable  claim  for  heavenly  aid.  But  his 
conscience  told  him  that  he  had  no  rights  there.  He  knew 
well  that  there  was  a  power  higher  than  that  to  which  he  so 
readily  yielded,  but  he  also  knew  that  it  was  not  to  be  invoked 
by  such  as  he. 

"All  I  can  hope  for,"  thought  the  stage-driver,  "is  to  be 
overlooked  by  the  Master  Eye.  If  I  should  ask  any  favors,  it 
could  only  serve  to  fetch  me  into  notice  and  to  point  out  my 
shortcomings." 

His  dealings,  therefore,  were  exclusively  with  Satan,  not 
from  choice,  but  because  he  saw  but  too  plainly  the  utter  hope- 


ROBERT  GREATIIOUSE.  363 

lessness  of  any  other  course.     To  seek  help  from  the  heavenly 
powers  would  be  presumptuously  flying  in  the  face  of  God. 

"  I  belong  to  the  devil,  and  must  make  the  best  terms  with 
the  old  chap  that  I  can  obtain.  He  will  allow  me  to  stay  about 
here  as  long  as  it  suits  him  to  do  so,  and  when  his  stock  begins 
to  run  low  he  will  take  me  into  camp." 

But  when  he  referred  to  the  common  adversary,  it  was  not 
with  servile  tone  or  maundering  humility,  but  with  the  bold  re 
spect  with  which  a  gentleman  addresses  a  monarch,  or  speaks 
of  the  inevitable. 

"  He  can  have  me  when  he  calls  for  me,  but  I  am  not  going 
to  hand  in  my  checks  till  the  game  is  squarely  played  out,  and 
till  then  I  will  take  it  as  it  comes." 

This  was  the  frame  of  mind  in  which  the  driver  felt,  as  he 
dashed  round  the  corners,  points,  and  spurs  of  the  Sierras.  He 
did  not  dare  to  pray  to  heaven,  he  was  too  great  a  sinner  for 
that,  and  he  scorned  to  ask  aid  at  the  hands  of  the  enemy  to 
whom,  in  the  end,  he  must  surrender.  So  he  sat  with  his  feet 
braced  and  his  teeth  set  tight  together,  and  holding  his  lines, 
waited  for  such  fate  as  might  be  meted  out  to  him. 

The  devil,  or  some  supernatural  power,  did,  indeed,  seem  to 
be  lending  a  friendly  support  to  the  expedition.  For  they 
passed  in  a  full  run  safely  over  points  and  passes  that  Jack,  even 
in  daylight,  was  glad  to  go  by  in  safety  at  a  slow  walk.  But  the 
surmounting  of  one  of  these  dangers  only  gave  a  short  mo 
ment  of  respite,  for  others,  still  more  dreadful,  drew,  by  that 
very  success,  measurably  nearer. 

An  hour  had  already  been  consumed  in  the  descending 
course,  and  the  fearful  pace  at  which  they  had  travelled  began 
to  produce  its  natural  effect  upon  the  horses.  Jack  could  al 
ready  feel  the  hot  steam  from  their  bodies  drifting  back  into 
his  face,  and  could  hear  their  panting  chests  as  they  gradually 
succumbed  to  fatigue.  His  experience  told  him,  too,  that,  as 
they  grew  more  tired,  their  sureness  of  foot,  which  was  his 
main  reliance  in  accomplishing  his  perilous  descent,  was  pro 
portionately  reduced.  A  blown  horse  is  not  as  careful  where 
he  steps  as  a  fresh  one  is. 

Near  the  end  of  the  grade  was  a  certain  sharp  angle,  the 
worst  on  the  road.  Jack  remembered  it,  and  looked  forward 
to  the  point  with  dread. 

e"  If  the  horses  were  fresh,  they  might  pass  it,"  he  thought, 
"  in  safety.  But  they  will  be  wholly  indifferent  to  what  happens 


364 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 


to  them  by  the  time  we  get  there,  and  then  down  we  will  go  to 
the  bottom  in  a  heap." 

But,  weary  and  panting  with  fatigue  as  the  poor  mustangs 
were,  they  could  not  relax  the  speed,  for  the  descent  was  rap 
id,  and  they  must  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  pursuing  coach. 
As  they  drew  near  the  narrow  pass,  Jack  set  his  teeth  more 
firmly  together,  and  pushed  down  a  little  on  the  brake. 

"  If  the  devil  is  not  in  special  need  of  me,  this  is  the  time  to. 
give  me  a  lift,  and  I  will  not  forget  his  kindness." 

This  Jack  muttered  as  they  swung  round  the  point.  The 
hint  to  his  Satanic  majesty  was  only  half  completed  when  the 
driver  heard  a  plunge  and  a  shrill  cry  from  one  of  the  horses 
at  the  brink  of  the  precipice.  In  a  moment  the  same  sound 
was  repeated  from  far  down  in  the  abyss.  One  of  the  leaders 
had  plunged  over  the  bank,  and  was  already  cutting  through 
the  air,  hundreds  of  feet  below,  upon  his  fearful  way  to  the 
bottom. 

'f  It's  all  up,"  thought  Jack,  but  he  made  no  effort  to  leave 
the  box.  "  I  will  play  out  the  hand  like  a  gentleman,"  he  mut 
tered  to  himself,  "and  not  leave  Bob  to  go  over  the  bank 
alone." 

But  they  did  not  go  over.  Fortunately,  the  falling  horse 
broke  through  the  harness  and  dropped  out  of  it,  without  pull 
ing  the  others  after  him,  as  there  was  great  danger  of  his  doing. 
And  at  the  moment  when  Jack  had  given  up  all  for  lost,  the 
coach  swung  around,  made  another  plunge  forwards,  and  rolled 
into  a  place  of  safety. 

At  the  same  instant  a  flash  of  lightning  revealed  the  road  in 
front,  smooth  and  comparatively  safe  ;  but  it  also  revealed  the' 
fact,  which  Jack  had  only  suspected  before,  that  the  team  was 
reduced  to  five  horses. 

The  gray  morning  light  was  just  peeping  above  the  hills  be 
yond  the  Sugar  Loaf,  when  the  tired  horses  drove  up,  not  to  the 
stage  office  in  Virginia,  but  to  the  hoisting  works  of  the  Graham 
mine. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  365 


CHAPTER   LXIV. 

SERVING   THE   WRIT   OF    HABEAS    CORPUS. 

JACK  jumped  down  from  the  box  and  rapidly  released  the 
panting  team  from  the  coach,  and  turned  the  horses  into  an 
open  yard  in  the  rear  of  the  shed.  Greathouse  had  come  from 
Carson  inside  the  coach  with  his  prisoners.  Jack,  having  got 
rid  of  the  horses,  called  out  in  a  low,  distinct  voice,  — 

"  Joe !  Joe  !  Joe  Bowers,  I  say  ! " 

He  paused  a  moment,  as  the  tall,  lank  form  of  a  man  came 
slowly  from  behind  a  low  wall  that  surrounded  the  yard. 

"Are  you  there,  Jack  ?"  demanded  the  man,  in  a  voice  that 
resembled  the  sound  of  a  creaky  barn-door  turned  slowly  on 
its  hinges  by  the  wind.  At  the  same  time  he  shambled  leis 
urely  through  the  dim  morning  light  towards  the  coach. 

"  Yes,  Joe,  we  are  here  ;  look  sharp  now,  and  be  spry." 

"What  has  kept  you  so  long,  Jack?"  creaked  the  barn-door 
voice.  "I  looked  for  you  the  day  you  left  me  ;  I  thought  you 
were  to  have  been  back  in  an  hour." 

"Yes!  yes!  Joe!"  said  Jack,  with  fresh  impatience,  "don't 
talk  about  that  now.  Bear  a  hand ;  we  have  business  to  attend 
to." 

Then,  turning  to  the  coach,  Jack  continued,  speaking  to 
Greathouse, — 

"  Now,  Colonel,  you  can  come  out  with  your  friends.  We 
have  arrived." 

This  said,  he  opened  the  door  and  held  it  for  them  to  de 
scend. 

"All  right,  Jack.  Come  gentlemen,  we  are  nearly  at  our 
journey's  end." 

Withergreen  and  Bloodstone  stepped  out  of  the  coach  to  the 
ground. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  continued,  "  this  is  the  door  of  the  hoisting 


366  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

works.  The  inmates  are  your  friends,  and  know  your  voice. 
I  shall  expect  you  to  call  them  and  to  ask  for  admittance.  This 
you  are  to  do  in  a  prudent  manner,  in  order  not  to  excite  their 
alarm.  There  are  several  men  in  the  place,  and  I  shall  hold 
you  accountable  for  their  conduct.  Now  we  understand  each 
other,  proceed." 

The  two  gentlemen,  whom  we  have  styled  the  prisoners, 
marching  side  by  side,  approached  the  door,  followed  closely 
by  Greathouse,  the  driver,  and  Joe  Bowers.  Arriving  at  the 
door,  Withergreen  knocked  for  admission,  at  first,  gently.  Re 
ceiving  no  answer,  he  repeated  the  knock  louder.  Soon  they 
saw  a  light  shining  from  a  hole,  and  heard  a  man's  voice  de 
manding  who  was  at  the  door.  Withergreen  answered,  for 
Bloodstone  had  from  the  first  appeared  incapable  of  any  act. 
He  was  like  a  condemned  criminal  being  led  to  execution. 

"Open  the  door,"  said  Withergreen  ;  "it  is  Mr.  Bloodstone, 
the  superintendent,  in  company  with  Mr.  Withergreen.  We 
wish  to  enter  the  mine." 

"Are  you  there,  Mr.  Bloodstone?"  demanded  the  voice. 

"Yes,"   said  that  gentleman,  faintly. 

The  man  appeared  satisfied,  and  proceeded  to  unbar  the  door. 
When  it  was  opened,  instead  of  the  gentlemen  who  had  de 
manded  admission,  Greathouse  stepped  in,  and  putting  a  pistol 
to  the  man's  head,  said,  in  a  low  voice,— 

"Don't  speak,  nor  move,  unless  you  want  the  top  of  your 
head  blown  off;  for  if  you  do,  I  will  fire  at  the  first  attempt. 
You  know  me,  —  I  am  Greathouse  ;  and  what  I  say,  I  will  do." 

The  man  stood  subdued.  He  knew  Greathouse  well,  by 
sight,  and  understood  that  he  had  fallen  into  bad  hands.  Great- 
house  made  a  sign  to  the  others  to  enter,  and  they  followed 
him  in. 

"  How  many  men  have  you  in  the  place,  and  where  are 
they?"  he  asked  of  the  man,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Two  others,"  was  the  answer,  "  and  they  are  in  bed,  there," 
pointing  to  a  distant  corner  of  the  shed. 

"Where  are  your  arms ? " 

Again  the  man  pointed  his  finger,  this  time  to  a  rack  against 
the  wall. 

"Bowers,"  said  Greathouse,  "take  care  of  those  guns." 

Joe  stepped  at  once  to  the  rack,  and  took  down  three  heavy 
rifles,  and  a  lot  of  revolvers,  and  laid  them  in  a  place  of  safety. 

"  Now  tie  this  man  carefully,  so  that  he  can  do  no  harm  to 
himself,  or  anybody  else.  This  is  only  a  matter  of  precaution," 


ROBERT  CREATHOUSE.  367 

said  Greathouse  to  the  man;  "we  have  taken  the  place  and 
don't  intend  to  have  any  mischance.  There  is  a  rope  upon  the 
wall,  Joe." 

Without  a  word  of  comment,  the  ox-driver,  with  a  readiness 
that  Jack  Gowdy's  account  of  his  friend  had  scarcely  permitted 
Greathouse  to  hope  from  him,  bound  the  prisoner  and  laid  him 
securely  upon  his  back. 

"Now,  Jack,"  continued  Greathouse,  "while  I  remain- here 
with  our  friends,  the  gentlemen  from  San  Francisco  and  this 
one  who  is  upon  his  back,  you  two  proceed  to  the  beds  that 
have  been  pointed  out  to  you,  and  take  care  of  his  two  com 
panions." 

Gowdy  and  Joe  Bowers  obeyed  the  order  promptly.  With 
cocked  revolvers  in  hand,  they  surrounded  the  beds  of  the  sleep 
ing  men  and  awakened  them.  They  rubbed  their  eyes  and 
looked.  When  they  saw  how  matters  stood,  they  surrendered, 
and  were  tied  as  the  first  one  had  been.  When  all  was  done, 
Greathouse  ordered  his  subordinates  to  bring  the  two  last  pris 
oners  and  deposit  them  upon  their  backs  by  the  side  of  the 
first  one.  This  was  done. 

"Now,  Bowers,  oblige  me  by  tying  carefully  the  hands  of 
my  two  friends  here." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  to  them,  "but  it  is  for  the  safety 
of  all,  that  I  adopt  this  apparently  harsh  measure.  I  hope  you 
will  deem  it  advisable  to  submit  without  objection,  for  I  shall 
insist  upon  it." 

No  objection  was  heard,  and  the  hands  of  both  men  were 
bound  behind  their  backs.  When  all  was  done,  Greathouse 
spoke. 

"Jack,"  said  he,  "lock  and  bar  the  door  carefully,  and  then 
we  will  determine  upon  our  next  plans." 

When  this  was  done,  and  they  were  again  together,  Great- 
house  continued, — 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  addressing  all  who  were  present,  — 
"  myself  and  my  two  friends  have  advanced  thus  far  in  the  exe 
cution  of  a  plan  for  the  release  of  Mr.  Graham  from  what  we 
conceive  to  be  an  unjust  imprisonment.  Before  we  set  out 
upon  our  attempt  the  law  had  been  invoked,  and  had  proved 
powerless,  not  only  to  rescue  the  gentleman,  but  even  to  inves 
tigate  the  question  of  whether  or  not  he  was  kept  in  the  mine. 
We  have  only  been  able  to  progress  thus  far,  because  we  have 
adhered  strictly  to  our  pledges.  It  has  been  believed  by  every 
body  with  whom  we  have  come  in  contact,  that  whatever  we 


368  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

said  we  would  do,  that  we  would  do  it  though  the  heavens 
should  fall  the  next  minute.  This  demonstrates  most  power 
fully  the  advantage  that  it  is  to  a  gentleman  to  always  remem 
ber  that  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  to  keep  his  word  in  every  in 
stance.  By  doing  this,  he  always  has  credit  for  good  faith. 
That  credit  has  proved  our  capital  in  this  adventure.  We  have 
not  been  called  upon  thus  far  to  perform  any  of  the  things  that 
we  felt  called  upon  to  say  that  we  would  do ;  and  the  reason 
has  been  that  everybody  has  given  us  credit.  They  have  not 
doubted  that  we  would  do  precisely  as  we  said  we  would  do, 
and  they  have  acted  in  accordance  with  that  opinion.  It  is  a 
wonderful  thing  to  be  able  to  inspire  so  much  confidence  in  a 
bare  word ;  and  it  can  only  be  done  by  always  sacredly  keep 
ing  that  word.  Having  acted  so  far  in  this  faithful,  and  conse 
quently  successful  manner,  it  is  now  no  time  to  forget  the  cause 
of  our  success.  What  we  say,  we  will  do,  gentlemen ;  believe 
us,  we  beseech  you,  that  we  will  continue  to  do  so  to  the  end, 
no  matter  what  may  follow.  As  for  you  two  gentlemen,  Mr. 
Bloodstone  and  Mr.  Withergreen,  I  will  tell  you  now  precisely 
what  I  am  about  to  do  in  your  case.  The  mine  is  reported  to 
be  filled  with  mephitic  gases,  destructive  to  human  life.  That 
fact  can  only  be  settled  by  going  down  and  testing  it.  I  pos 
sess  the  power  to  test  it  upon  you  without  danger  to  myself.  I 
could  let  one,  or  both  of  you,  down  in  the  cage  and  draw  you 
up  again  in  ten  minutes ;  but  I  have  promised  to  protect  you, 
as  long  as  you  act  in  good  faith  with  me.  I  shall  keep  my 
pledge.  I  will  share  the  danger  in  whatever  form  it  takes.  I 
shall  at  once  descend  to  the  bottom  of  the  mine,  taking  both 
of  you  with  me.  Should  I  find  this  story  to  be  true,  I  will  then' 
concede  that  Mr.  Graham  is  not  in  the  mine,  and  that  an  injus 
tice  has  been  done  to  you,  Mr.  Bloodstone,  by  Miss  Graham, 
and  to  both  of  you  by  myself.  If  the  experiment  does  not  de 
stroy  you,  then  you  shall  be  set  at  liberty ;  I  will  ring  the  bell 
for  our  attendants  to  draw  us  up  again.  It  may  be  that  we  can 
get  back  to  the  surface  alive.  If  we  can  do  so,  I  shall  untie 
your  hands,  and  humbly  beg  your  pardon  for  the  injustice  I 
have  done  to  you,  and  for  the  great  inconvenience  I  have  caused 
you.  Then  I  shall  let  you  go  free,  to  do  with  me,  or  anybody 
else,  as  you  please.  I  shall  in  such  case  be  in  your  power. 
But  if,  on  the  contrary,  I  should  find  the  air  in  the  mine  pure, 
and  such  as  a  human  being  can  breathe  and  still  survive,  then 
I  shall  assume  the  fact  to  be  as  Miss  Graham  believes  it  to  be. 
A  fraud  will  have  been  put  upon  the  public,  in  the  statement 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


369 


made  of  the  condition   of  the  mine.     You,  Mr.   Bloodstone, 
have  stated  that  the  mine  is  filled  with  choke-damps.     If  it  is 
not  true,  you  must  suffer  consequences  you  have  brought  upon 
yourself.     I  shall,  in  that  case,  after  we  have  reached  the  bot 
tom,  give  you,  gentlemen,  thirty  minutes  to  find  Mr.  Graham, 
living  or   dead.     If  you  do  not  find  him  within  that  time,  1 
shaH0kill  you  both.     But  in  order  to  spare  the  unnecessary  ef 
fusion  of  blood,  I  shall  kill  one  of  you  first ;  I  shall  do  this  to 
convince  the  other  of  the  serious  character  of  my  intentions. 
There  is  danger  that  you  may  risk  your  lives  by  misunderstand 
ing,  after  all,  the  real  character  of  the  gentleman  with  whom 
you  have  to  deal.     I  refer  to  myself,  Robert  Greathouse.     In 
order  not  to  allow  my  project  to  miscarry  in  consequence  of 
such  ungrounded  misunderstanding  of  my  resolutions,  I  shall 
shoot  one  of  you  punctually  at  the  end  of  twenty  minutes,  and 
the  second  I  shall  shoot   ten  minutes  later.     This,  gentlemen, 
you  will  greatly  oblige  me  if  you  will  consider  as  settled,  now, 
before  we  enter  the  mine.     But  to  show  you  that  I  have  not 
entered  upon   the  business  without   seriously  considering  the 
matter  from  all  points  of  view,  I  will  further  say,  that  I  have 
deemed  it  only  just  to  decide  in  advance  which  of  yOu  I  will 
shoot  first,  as  a  lesson  to  the  other.     Although  I  am  morally 
satisfied  that  both  of  you  know  as  much  about  the  matter  as 
either  one  of  you  knows,  yet  I  have  considered  that  it  is  only 
just  to  presume  that  Mr.  Bloodstone,  the  superintendent  of  the 
mine,  is  more  likely  to  know  all  than  Mr.  Withergreen,  who 
has  no  public  connection  with  Mr.  Graham's  business.     Such 
being  but  a  just  and  common-sense  view  of  the  matter,  I  have 
thought  it  to  be  no  more  than  fair  not  to  permit  the  superin 
tendent  to  speculate  upon  my  determination  at  the  expense  of 
his  friend,  Mr.  Withergreen.     Mr.  Bloodstone  certainly  knows 
all  that  can  be  known ;  Mr.   Withergreen  may  not.     I  have 
therefore,  in  view  of  this  reasonable  idea,  determined  already 
which  of  you  I  shall  kill  first,  and  which  last.     If  my  friend 
Mr.  Graham  is  not  found  within  twenty  minutes  from  the  time 
we  commence  our  search,  I  shall  promptly  blow  out  the  brains 
of  Mr.  Bloodstone.     If  ten  minutes  later  he  still  remains  un 
discovered,  I  shall  do  precisely  the   same  thing  to  my  good 
friend,  Mr.  Marvin  Withergreen.     These  things,  gentlemen,  I 
shall  do  with  great  reluctance,  but  I  have  not  come  upon  this 
expedition  to  be  balked,  and   I  do  not  intend  to  be  balked, 
as  I  have  already  told  you,  if  I  can  avoid  it.     That,  I  believe, 
is  all  I  have  to  say  to  you,  gentlemen.     As  for  you,  Jack  and 


370  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

Joe,  it  remains  to  give  you  your  directions.  I  may  not  come 
out  of  this  affair  alive •  the  chances  of  reason  all  are  against 
me.  As  for  you  two,  you  may,  and  probably  will,  escape.  I 
shall  go  down  with  my  two  friends  here  to  search  the  mine,  if  it 
is  not  filled  with  damps.  As  we  go  down,  I  shall  hold  the  sig 
nal  in  my  hand.  When  we  reach  the  level  in  which  my  two 
friends  wish  to  commence  the  search,  —  for  I  shall  leave  the 
method  wholly  to  them,  —  I  will  ring  the  bell  once  for  you  to 
stop.  If  I  ring  immediately  afterwards,  a  series  of  running 
taps  of  the  bell,  it  will  let  you  know  that  the  air  is  bad,  and 
you  are  to  hoist  up  as  rapidly  as  possible.  Now  remember  me, 
gentlemen,  —  one  tap  to  stop;  a  running  alarm  of  taps  will 
tell  you  to  hoist  the  cage,  for  we  will  be  suffocating.  But  if, 
after  we  stop  at  any  level  you  hear  two  distinct  taps  of  the  bell, 
then  you  are  to  understand  that  the  mine  is  free  and  the  air 
pure.  To  make  sure,  I  may  repeat  this  signal  several  times,  so 
as  to  have  no  misunderstanding  about  it.  That  is,  a  repetition 
of  double  taps  at  intervals  will  assure  you  that  we  are  explor 
ing  the  mine,  and  that  it  is  free  from  gases.  Do  you  under 
stand  me,  gentlemen?" 

Both  Jack  and  Joe  signified  that  they  fully  knew  the  signals 
agreed  upon. 

"  Very  well,"  continued  Greathouse,  "  then  let  us  determine 
what  is  to  be  done  besides.  You  two  are  to  stay  here  and 
keep  watch.  If  either  of  these  three  gentlemen,  who  lie  here 
tied  up  with  ropes,  should  make  any  disturbance,  you  will, 
without  hesitation  or  delay,  proceed  at  once  to  cut  all  their 
heads  off.  This  done  you  will  lift  up  the  cage  and  pitch  them> 
down  the  shaft  into  the  water  below.  If  I  am  not  back  here 
in  half  an  hour  precisely,  one  of  you  will  come  down  into 
the  mine  and  shoot  these  two  gentlemen,  if  I  have  failed  to  do 
it.  The  other  will  wait  at  the  shaft's  mouth  to  hoist  you  up 
when  it  is  done.  If  either  of  these  gentlemen,  or  both  of  them 
together,  should  come  to  the  top  of  the  mine  unaccompanied 
either  by  myself  or  Mr.  Graham,  you  will  immediately  pitch 
him  or  them  back  down  the  shaft.  Now,  do  you  understand  me, 
gentlemen  ?  " 

Again  Jack  and  Joe  assured  him  that  they  understood  all 
that  had  been  said. 

•"Very  good;    then  let  us  proceed   to  business.     Give  me 
three  lights." 

Three  miners'  lamps  were  lighted. 

"  Put  one  on  the  top  of  the  heads  of  each  of  my  two  friends, 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  o7i 

and  put  one  on  my  head.  Now,  gentlemen,  step  into  the 
cage." 

Withergreen  and  Bloodstone,  each  with  a  lamp  on  his  head, 
and  with  his  hands  firmly  bound  behind  his  back,  took  places, 
as  ordered.  Greathouse  stepped  to  the  back  of  the  cage,  and 
placed  the  prisoners  in  such  a  position  that  their  backs  were 
towards  himself  and  their  faces  towards  the  door  of  the  cage. 

"Now  you  will  be  standing  so  that  when  we  stop  you  can 
step  out  directly  in  to  the  drift  and  go  in  the  direction  you 
may  wish  to  go.  Boys,"  said  Bob,  before  being  let  down, 
"keep  wide  awake,  and  don't  forget  what  you  are  about. 
If  I  never  see  you  again,  good-by.  Now,  lower  away  slowly. 
My  two  friends  will  let  me  know  when  to  stop." 

And,  so  saying,  the  cage  was  let  down  the  shaft  and  disap 
peared  in  the  earth. 

"  Listen  sharp  for  the  bell,  Joe,"  said  Jack.  "  If  the  damps 
strike  them,  they  can't  be  brought  up  too  quick,  I  can  tell 
you." 

"  All  right,  Jack  ;  I  am  listening." 

Down  went  the  cage,  slowly,  for  both  men  were  expecting 
each  minute  to  hear  the  signal  to  draw  up  again.  But  no 
signal  came.  The  mark  on  the  rope  indicated  that  the  first 
level  had  been  passed,  and  the  same  for  the  second,  with  no 
sound  of  the  bell. 

"  They  don't  stop  in  the  second  level,"  said  Jack. 

"  There  is  no  bad  air  in  the  mine,"  said  the  sensible  Joe 
Bowers.  "  I  will  bet  six  yoke  of  oxen  on  that.  Had  there 
been  any  damps  in  the  mine,  before  now  they  would  have 
been  suffocated  or  ringing  to  come  up.  Here  comes  the  mark 
for  the  third  level.  Perhaps  they  will  make  a  call  there,  if  it 
is  only  to  look  around  a  bit.  No  ;  they  pass  the  third  level." 

"Are  they  going  to  the  bottom,  Joe?" 

"  No ;  that  cannot  be,  for  we  know  that  the  water  is  on 
that  level.  Then  here  comes  the  mark  for  the  fourth  level. 
Let  us  see  what  they  will  say  to  it." 

Clang  !  rang  out  the  bell,  clear  and  loud  enough  to  start  the 
engine  of  an  ocean  steamer.  "Stop  at  the  fourth  level,"  says 
the  signal. 

"  Stop  her,"  shouted  Jack.  "  Now  be  ready,  Joe,  for  the 
order  to  hoist." 

But  a  minute  passed  and  no  such  order  comes.  The  thin 
morning  air  is  again  disturbed.  Clang !  clang !  comes  a 
double  ring  aati  the  bell  is  still  again. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

"The  mine  is  free,"  said  Joe,  in  his  slow,  creaking  barn 
door  voice,  "  and  they  are  gone  to  search  for  Mr.  Graham." 

A  minute  passes,  and  the  signal  is  repeated  to  prevent  mis 
understanding.  Clang !  clang !  goes  the  great  bell,  the  tones 
ringing  and  reverberating  in  the  morning  air. 

"All  right,  old  boy  !  "  shouted  Jack,  gleefully,  down  the  mine, 
in  the  vain  hope  that  Greathouse  could  hear  him.  "We  un 
derstand  you.  Go  on  and  hunt  for  the  old  man.  We  will  take 
care  of  these  fellows  up  here." 

A  minute  more,  and  clang !  clang !  is  once  more  signaled 
to  settle  all  doubts. 

"  Now,"  said  'Joe,  "look  at  your  watch,  Jack ;  for  we  count 
our  time  from  that  signal.  If  Bob  don't  ring  to  be  hoisted  up 
at  the  end  of  half  an  hour  it  is  all  over  with  him,  and  all  we 
have  to  do  is  to  slope  out  of  this  country  as  fast  as  we  can  go." 

"  That  is  so,"  said  Jack.  "  Bob  Greathouse  is  a  prompt  man ; 
and  when  he  makes  a  time-table  he  works  up  to  it  to  the 
second.  You  stand  by  the  lift,  Joe,  and  I  will  look  after  our 
friends  here,  to  prevent  any  treachery." 

So  saying,  he  drew  his  revolver  from  his  holster,  and  took 
his  stand  by  the  bound  men  on  the  floor,  and  stood  waiting 
for  further  developments. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  373 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

HOME    AGAIN. 

HELEN  was  not  left  long  alone.  After  the  departure  of 
Greathouse,  and  during  the  first  days  of  the  trial,  Blanche  Mo 
Iver  returned  again  to  visit  her  friend.  She  arrived  the  morn 
ing  after  Greathouse  went  away  to,  as  he  said,  serve  his  writ  of 
habeas  corpus,  and  found  Helen  in  bed  with  a  fever.  But  her 
presence  was  almost  alone  enough  to  restore  the  invalid  to 
health,  and  with  nursing  and  kind  words  the  young  lady  was 
able  to  rise  the  following  morning.  Blanche  had  come  with 
still 'more  powerful  arguments  than  ever  to  induce  the  orphan 
to  accompany  her  home,  but  all  in  vain. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  dear  Blanche,"  she  said  ;  "  so  glad, 
that  I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  acknowledged  all  when  I  say 
that  perhaps  you  have  saved  my  life.  But  you  will  send  me  to 
bed  again  if  you  urge  me  to  violate  my  duty,  so  clearly  as  I  feel 
that  I  would  do  in  leaving  the  place  before  I  have  found  my 
father.  Don't  talk  about  it,  dear  Blanche,  if  you  love  me." 

This  injunction  was  quite  enough  for  Blanche. 

"I  shall  say  no  more,"  she  said;  "but  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
remain  with  you.  I  cannot  go  away  again  and  leave  you  alone 
to  die,  as  I  am  sure  you  will  if  you  mope  in  this  way." 

Failing  to  induce  Helen  to  go  home  with  her,  Blanche's  next 
effort  was  tried  to  get  her  friend  to  go  out  and  take  the  air. 
But  even  this  she  could  not  find  the  courage  to  do.  She  de 
clared  that  she  could  not  leave  the  room. 

"Very  well,1'  said  Blanche,  "if  you  will  not  go  out,  then  I 

will  not." 

But  on  the  fourth  morning,  an  event  happened  that  changed 
suddenly  all  their  plans.  They  had  risen,  and  were  dressed  in 
morning  costume,  waiting  for  breakfast  to  be  brought  up,  when 
the  door  opened,  and  Jack  Gowdy  walked  in,  looking  very 
rough  and  uncouth  even  for  that  wild  fellow.  Jack  was  always 
welcome  at  No.  16,  and  having  been  away  for  a  four  days'  jour 
ney,  during  which  it  was  known  to  the  young  ladies  that  he  had 
been  to  California,  his  arrival  was  an  event.  Blanche,  who 


374  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

had  already  become  a  great  partisan  of  Jack's,  ran  to  shake 
hands  with  him. 

"How  do  you  do,  '  Old  Hoss'  ?"  she  cried,  falling  at  onc*» 
into  the  language  most  easily  understood  by  the  stage-driver, 
"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you." 

Jack  took  her  hand,  but  did  not  appear  to  be  quite  equal  to 
the  occasion.  He  regarded  the  two  young  ladies  with  a  con 
fused  look. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Jack?"  demanded  Blanche,  observing 
at  a  glance  that  something  unusual  had  occurred  to  so  disturb 
the  stage-driver's  manner,  "  You  look  like  a  '  biled  owl.'  What 
has  gone  wrong  with  you  ?  " 

Helen  now  arose  and  came  forward. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Gowdy,"  she  said,  kindly,  as  she  always 
addressed  Jack,  "  I  hope  you  are  quite  well?" 

"Yes,  miss;  quite  well,"  he  stammered,  "but  I  have  some 
thing  to  say  to  you." 

"  To  say  to  me,"  cried  Helen,  turning  pale.  "Is  it  about  my 
father,  Jack?  Have  you  heard  of  him  ?  Tell  me,  is  he  well?" 

"  He  is  well,  miss,"  said  Jack,  "  I  have  heard  of  him.  We 
know  where  he  is,  and  he  is  well." 

Blanche  had  already  caught  Helen  in  her  arms  as  she  sank 
down,  but  it  was  but  a  passing  weakness,  and  in  a  moment  she 
was  plying  Jack  with  more  questions. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  How  did  you  hear  of  him  ?  Will  he  be 
here  soon  ?  " 

All  these  demands  crowded  after  each  other  so  rapidly,  that 
Jack  could  not  find  words  to  answer. 

Observing  this  fact,  Helen  paused  to  wait  for  him. 

"  He  is  well,  miss  ;  he  will  be  at  home  soon.  Very  soon.  I 
have  seen  him  myself." 

"  Then  he  is  here  now,"  cried  Helen,  rushing  to  the  door. 

But  before  she  could  reach  it  she  was  folded  to  her  father's 
breast.  He  had  been  waiting  in  the  hall  till  his  daughter  could 
be  prepared  by  Jack  for  the  surprise. 

Mr.  Graham  being  quite  taken  up  with  the  greetings  of 
Helen,  there  was  nothing  for  Blanche  to  do  but  to  bestow  her 
congratulations  upon  the  stage  driver,  which  she  did  with  a 
hearty  good  will,  hugging  and  kissing  Jack  till  he  was  ready  to 
retreat  from  the  room  for  protection. 

Mr.  Graham  and  Helen  withdrew  to  another  room,  and  his 
story  was  soon  told  to  her. 
.     On  the  Sunday  that  he  had  left  the  house  for  a  walk,  he 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  375 

had,  as  the  reader  will  recollect,  descended  into  the  mine,  fol 
lowing  the  party  with  Mr.  Bloodstone,  which  he  had  accident 
ally  seen  descending.  After  searching  about  the  dark  laby 
rinths  of  the  fourth  level  for  some  time,  he  at  last  came  upon 
the  party  all  in  a  group.  They  were  engaged  in  examining 
the  rock  in  the  wall  of  one  of  the  chambers.  As  he  entered 
the  place  he  learned  by  their  remarks,  as  well  as  the  specimens 
of  rock  they  had  in  their  hands,  and  which  they  were  testing 
with  pocket  instruments,  that  they  had  discovered  silver  ore. 
Without  hesitation  he  had  approached  and  addressed  them,  and 
with  his  lamp  examined  the  silver  ore  that  sparkled  and  glis 
tened  in  the  light  in  every  direction  around  them.  He  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  cavern  filled  with  treasure  of  almost  fabulous 
value.  But  his  amazement  was  scarcely  at  an  end  when  the 
manner  of  his  companions  filled  him  with  alarm.  He  saw  al 
most  at  a  glance  that  his  arrival  had  not  been  expected,  and 
that  he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  gang  of  desperate  robbers, 
ready  to  take  his  life.  He  was  not  long  kept  iu  suspense  as  to 
their  designs.  They  told  him  at  once  that  he  was  a  prisoner. 
The  villains  made  no  pretence  of  concealing  their  schemes. 
They  had  been  for  a  long  time  plotting  to  obtain  this  treasure, 
and  did  not,  so  they  said,  intend  to  allow  it  to  slip  through 
their  fingers  at  this  late  hour.  Bloodstone  had  but  little  to  say, 
but  the  other  employees  of  Mr.  Graham  boldly  proposed  his 
immediate  murder,  and,  but  for  Marvin  Withergreen,  would 
have  carried  their  horrid  project  at  once  into  execution.  That 
gentleman  objected  to  what  he  declared  was  not  only  an  un 
necessary,  but  a  dangerous  act. 

"  We  can  obtain  our  prize,  gentlemen,  much  more  easily," 
he  said,  "  by  holding  him  a  prisoner  with  the  power  of  life  or 
death  over  him,  than  we  can  by  staining  our  hands  by  a  useless 
murder.  That  once  done  cannot  be  undone,"  he  argued.  "  If 
we  take  his  life,  we  place  ourselves,  directly  in  the  power  of  any 
one  of  the  company  who  in  anger  at  the  rest,  or  upon  a  death 
bed  contrition,  chooses  to  declare  the  deed.  If  we  keep  him 
here  alive,  we  have  the  whole  gains  in  our  own  hands.  Mr. 
Bloodstone  is  engaged  to  marry  his  daughter.  The  wedding  is  to 
take  place  to-morrow.  That  once  accomplished,  we  have  such 
a  hold  upon  Mr.  Graham,  through  his  family,  that  we  can  force 
a  fair  division  of  the  profits.  There  is  enough  of  it  to  make  us 
all  rich  beyond  computation.  And  even  if  we  keep  this  gen 
tleman  a  prisoner  for  a  few  months,  he  will,  when  set  at  liberty 
never  take  proceedings  against  his  own  son-in-law.  He  will 


376  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

not  allow  such  a  disgrace  to  come  upon  his  family.  I  tell  you, 
gentlemen,"  argued  Mr.  Withergreen,  "we  have  him  here  and 
no  one  can  find  him.  We  will  say  that  he  has  fled  from  the 
country  to  avoid  his  creditors.  We  can  at  any  time  kill  him 
if  it  becomes  necessary  to  do  so.  But  once  dead,  unless  the 
killing  is  for  some  good  purpose  hereafter,  you  will  have  done 
a  needlessly  dangerous  act,  that  puts  each  of  us  in  the  power 
of  the  others  till  the  end  of  his  life.  Believe  me,  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  kill  him  when  we  find  that  we  cannot  get  the  trea 
sure  in  any  other  way." 

Mr.  Graham  was  obliged  to  stand  in  a  corner  of  the  cham 
ber  and  hear,  from  beginning  to  end,  this  cold-blooded  discus 
sion,  in  which  he  was  so  deeply  concerned. 

Mr.  Withergreen' s  counsel  prevailed.  The  others  were  sat 
isfied  to  allow  the  proprietor  to  live,  at  least  for  a  time,  but  he 
observed  that  Bloodstone  appeared  to  have  no  sort  of  courage, 
either  for  good  or  evil.  When  the  argument  for  immediate 
murder  seemed  the  most  powerful  and  likely  to  prevail,  the 
superintendent  stood  in  speechless  acquiescence.  When  gen 
tler  and  more  prudent  counsels  were  in  the  ascendency,  he 
showed  no  signs  of  approbation  or  displeasure. 

After  two  or  three  hours  of  bold  discussion,  during  which, 
more  than  once,  Mr.  Graham's  days  had  appeared  to  be  already 
numbered,  the  conspirators  withdrew  and  left  him  in  the  mine. 

After  several  hours  of  absence,  his  watch  indicating  eleven 
o'clock  at  night,  three  of  them  returned,  with  Bloodstone  at 
their  head.  They  brought  with  them  a  straw  mattress  and 
some  blankets  for  the  prisoner's  bed,  and  also  food,  drink,  and) 
a  supply  of  lights. 

Mr.  Graham  breathed  more  freely.  "  At  least,"  he  thought, 
"  I  have  a  respite  and  am  not  to  be  at  once  murdered." 

But  Bloodstone  had  also  brought  with  him  writing  materials. 
This  he  put  before  the  prisoner  and  coldly  told  him  to  "write  a 
letter  to  his  family,  to  the  effect  that  he  had  fled  to  Salt  Lake, 
because  of  his  financial  difficulties,  and  would  be  gone  for  sev 
eral  weeks." 

This  Mr.  Graham  declined  to  do. 

"  It  may  cost  you  your  life,  Mr.  Graham,  if  you  do  not." 

To  this  the  prisoner  did  not  condescend  a  reply. 

After  a  time  Bloodstone  resumed  the  attack.  "Write  to 
your  daughter,  requesting  her  to  go  on  with  the  marriage  cere 
mony  to-morrow,  notwithstanding  your  absence,  and  when  we 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  377 

are  married,  Mr.  Graham,  on  my  honor  you  shall  be  set  at  lib 
erty." 

To  this  Mr.  Graham  made  such  a  reply  as  let  us  hope  any 
father  would  have  made. 

"  I  would  rather  die  here  than  have  my  daughter  marry  you."  * 

Again  was  his  life  threatened,  but  he  scorned  to  reply  to  the 
threat.  At  last,  however,  he  spoke. 

"  I  have  reason  to  fear,  Mr.  Bloodstone,  that  you  have  ob 
tained  my  daughter's  love.  If  she  consents  to  marry  you  of  her 
own  accord  while  I  am  detained  here,  I  will  promise  upon  my 
liberation  to  withdraw  myself  from  the  country,  surrendering  all 
claim  to  the  mine,  and  will  never  tell  of  your  treatment  of  me. 
I  will  do  this  for  my  daughter's  sake,  if  she  becomes  your  wife. 
But  to  influence  her  before  she  takes  that  step,  never  will  I  do 
it,  not  even  to  save  my  life.  If  she  loves  you,  as  I  fear  she 
does,  she  will  believe  your  story  and  marry  you ;  and  from  that 
moment  you  have  nothing  more  to  fear  from  her  father." 

The  party  withdrew,  leaving  the  prisoner  alone.  From  that 
time  there  was  but  little  variety  to  his  life.  Twice  more  Blood 
stone  visited  him,  and  tried  to  shake  his  resolution  about  ad 
vising  the  marriage.  These  visits  brought  joy  to  the  father's 
heart,  for  they  told  him  that  the  daughter  had  not  tied  herself 
in  marriage  to  this  monster.  He  now  rejected,  with  even  great 
er  scorn  than  ever,  the  liberty  offered  him  upon  such  hideous 
terms.  For  the  last  four  days  he  had  been  left  entirely  alone. 
Not  even  the  daily  visits  of  the  watchman  to  fetch  him  food 
had  been  made,  and  his  supplies  were  nearly  exhausted,  — water 
he  could  find  trickling  down  the  sides  of  the  mine,  but  he  had 
already  suspected  that  he  was  left  to  slowly  perish  from  hunger,  — 
when,  one  morning,  as  his  watch  informed  him,  for  in  the  mine 
night  and  day  were  alike,  he  was  startled  from  his  fitful  slumbers 
by  the  arrival  of  a  party  of  men  in  the  chamber  where  he  slept. 
His  first  impression  was  that  his  last  hour  had  come.  He  knew 
that  it  was  an  extraordinary  time  for  people  to  be  visiting  the 
mine  when  all  above  ground  were  sleeping.  The  sight  of 
Bloodstone,  Withergreen,  and  a  third  large  and  powerful  man, 
who  proved  to  be  Bob  Greathouse,  the  murderer,  added  to  his 
fears.  "  They  have  chosen  the  night  to  finish  the  crime  already 
so  nearly  consummated.  Greathouse,  the  murderer,  will  only 
add  one  more  to  a  list  of  his  victims."  But  the  kind  voice  of 
the  supposed  murderer,  in  an  instant  reassured  him.  "  No  man," 
thought  the  prisoner,  "  can  address  such  sympathetic  tones  to 
one  whom  he  intends  to  murder."  Another  glance  showed  him 


J 


378  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

the  hands  of  the  two  gentlemen  to  be  tied  securely  behind  their 
backs  ;  they  now  were  prisoners  in  turn.  Greathouse  came  at 
once  to -the  side  of  Mr.  Graham's  bed,  and  shook  him  warmly 
by  the  hand. 

"I  have  been  in  search  of  you  for  some  time,"  he  said,  "but 
at  last  these  gentlemen  have  kindly  been  induced  to  join  with 
me  in  the  search,  and  that  once  done,  we  soon  reached  you 
without  more  trouble.  You  are  now  at  liberty,  sir,  and  we  will 
at  once  leave  this  most  unfitting  place  for  a  gentleman's  deten 
tion.  But,  before  going,  Mr.  Graham,"  continued  Greathouse, 
"  I  will  say,  that  in  order  to  induce  these  very  worthy  gentle 
men  to  assist  me  in  my  enterprise,  in  short  to  come  with  me  as 
they  did  from  a  distance  to  effect  your  release,  I  ventured  to 
promise  them  in  your  name,  that  if  they  would  do  so,  and  you 
should  be  found  alive,  that  no  harm  should  come  to  them  or  any 
body  for  any  act  connected  with  your  detention.  Was  I  right  in 
mrking  this  pledge,  Mr.  Graham  ?  " 

"  Most  assuredly,  Colonel  Greathouse,"  answered  Mr.  Gra 
ham.  "  Besides,  there  are  circumstances  which  would  have  pre 
vented  my  proceeding  against  the  authors  of  my  imprisonment, 
even  had  you  made  no  such  promise." 

"  Then  let  us  leave  this  place  as  speedily  as  possible." 

When  they  reached  the  surface,  they  found  Jack  Gowdy  and 
Joe  Bowers  still  guarding  three  men,  who  lay  upon  their  backs 
on  the  floor  of  the  hoisting-shed.  Mr.  Graham  recognized  in 
these  discomfited  wretches  three  of  his  jailers,  and  who  had 
been  formerly  his  most  trusted  employees,  namely :  the  head 
miner,  the  engineer,  and  the  watchman.  They,  as  well  as  the 
two  gentlemen,  were  without  further  ceremony  relieved  from' 
their  bonds,  and  the  party  took  their  way  to  the  hotel. 

At  first  they  entered  the  room  of  Greathouse,  where  that  gen 
tleman  broke  to  Mr.  Graham,  as  gently  as  he  could,  the  fact  of 
his  wife's  death.  The  blow  was  a  severe  one,  and  was  rendered 
the  more  grievous  by  the  thought  that  his  own  conduct  was  not 
wholly  free  from  blame. 

"  Had  I  not  yielded  to  the  temptation  to  pursue  the  phantom 
of  wealth,  to  the  oblivion  of  even  my  duty  to  those  around  me, 
this  calamity  would  not  have  overtaken  me.  I  could  have  sup 
ported  my  family  in  humble  happiness,"  sighed  the  bereaved 
husband ;  "my  poor  darling  that  has  gone  never  wanted  more. 
To  be  once  more  rich,  I  have  lost  all  that  would  have  made 
that  wealth  enjoyable.  Here,  at  last,  I  have  found  the  long 
looked-for  vein  of  precious  metal.  But  what  can  bring  back 


ROBERT    GREATHOUSE.  379 

the  treasure  I  had  in  that  loving  heart  which  has  been  crushed 
in  the  search  ?  " 

From  the  day  of  Mr.  Graham's  disappearance  the  suit  for 
the  possession  of  his  mine  had  been  quietly  pushed  forward  by 
Snakeweed  and  Spelter,  and  was  actually  on  trial  at  the  time  of 
his  escape.  The  court,  the  jury,  and  the  witnesses  had  all  been 
securely  "  fixed  "  in  the  interest  of  the  conspirators,  and  victory 
was  certain.  But  just  as  Mr.  Spelter  was  closing  his  final 
address  to  the  jury  in  his  very  best  manner,  his  jet  black  hair 
standing  on  end  with  the  fury  of  his  eloquence,  Mr.  Graham, 
whom  they  believed  to  be  securely  locked  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  walked  into  the  court-room  and  took  a  seat  by  the  side 
of  his  counsel.  A  thunderbolt  would  not  have  created  greater 
consternation.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  all  further  proceed 
ings  were  speedily  closed,  and  the  suit  dismissed. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

ANOTHER  ENGAGEMENT  TO  MARRY. 

DURING  the  few  days  longer  that  Mr.  Graham  intended  to 
ramain  in  Washoe  Territory,  Blanche  Mclver  readily  consented 
to  remain  with  her  friend.  Each  day  the  sorrow-stricken 
father,  accompanied  by  his  daughter,  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
little  cemetery  upon  the  mountain-side  to  sit  by  the  grave  of 
Matilda.  Helen  never  told  him  how  near  she  had  been  to  being 
mated  with  a  man  of  whom  she  had  never  thought  except  with 
a  sensation  of  disgust.  She  saw  that  her  father's  mind  was 
already  prostrate  beneath  a  sense  of  the  wrong  his  own  course 
had  inflicted  upon  his  family.  The  fact  that  he  had  been 
betrayed  into  this  cruel  conduct  towards  those  he  loved  so 
dearly  by  a  too  ardent  pursuit  of  wealth  was  ever  present  to 
his  mind.  "  It  is  all  past  and  gone,"  thought  the  daughter.  "  I 
have  escaped  from  the  evil,  and  will  not  add  that  recollection 
to  the  grief  already  so  heavy  for  my  poor  father  to  bear." 

Mr.  Graham  spoke  but  seldom  of  Bloodstone.  He  also  felt 
the  subject  to  be  a  delicate  one.  He  feared  that  his  daughter 
might  have  still  some  lingering  regrets  for  the  man,  and  so  he 
would  not  dilate  upon  what  he  had  suffered  at  his  hands.  A 
week  had  now  almost  passed  since  Mr.  Graham's  return.  He 


380 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 


had  already  fixed  upon  an  early  day  for  his  departure  to  San 
Francisco.  Harry  Stacey  had  brought  his  client's  affairs  into 
a  regular  state  of  management.  Mr.  Graham  was  now  the 
owner  of  a  property  the  value  of  which  was  many  millions. 
But  he  took  no  interest  in  it  whatever.  Indeed,  he  seemed 
unwilling  to  have  the  subject  mentioned  to  him.  It  was  an 
act  of  treason  to  her  that  was  gone  to  enjoy  the  wealth  that 
had  been  so  dearly  purchased.  "It  is  the  price  of  my  darling's 
life,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  and  I  cannot  take  it."  The  day 
before  they  were  to  go  away,  Blanche  and  Mr.  Graham  went 
to  the  grave  of  Matilda,  leaving  Helen  for  some  reason  at  home. 
Directly  after  their  departure  from  No.  16  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  door.  It  proved  to  be  Greathouse.  This  was  the  first 
time  he  had  made  his  appearance  since  Mr.  Graham's  return. 
He  had  kept  purposely  away  till  the  bereaved  husband's  grief 
should  partially  dull  its  edge.  Helen  had  expected  him  daily 
to  call,  and  claim  the  reward  she  had  promised  in  the  event 
of  his  delivering  her  father  from  captivity.  He  had  at  last 
come. 

"  Good-morning,  Colonel  Greathouse,"  she  said,  kindly,  and 
pointing  him  to  a  chair.  "  We  have  been  expecting  to  see  you 
here  every  day,  since  you  so  gallantly  restoied  my  father  to 
life  and  to  me,  his  daughter.  Your  continued  absence  has 
been  a  matter  of  disappointment  to  us  all."  This  she  said 
with  a  tone  of  evident  sincerity. 

Helen  Graham  felt  that  Greahouse  had  alone  saved  her 
father  from  a  cruel  death.  And,  more,  that  he  had  been 
induced  to  risk  his  life  in  the  attempt  by  the  promise  of  hei 
hand  in  marriage.  She  intended  to  be  true  to  her  pledge.  "  Had 
he  not  acted  so  bravely  I  should  have  been  compelled  to 
marry  Bloodstone,  the  murderer  of  all  I  love  in  this  world. 
A  man  that  I  detested  even  when  his  hands  were  still  unsullied 
by  the  blood  of  my  darling  mother.  This  alone  is  enough  to 
win  my  hand,  if  not  my  heart.  He  shall  have  the  one  when 
he  claims  his  rights,  and  the  other  if  I  can  ever  school  it  to 
forget  the  love  that  has  already  seized  it  and  carried  it,  at  least 
for  the  present,  beyond  my  control." 

Greathouse  sat  for  half  an  hour  conversing  with  Helen,  but 
without  being  able  to  bring  up  the  subject  that  evidently  was 
upon  his  mind.  At  last  he  made  an  effort,  and  said  that  he 
had  something  special  to  say  to  her,  if  he  could  only  summon 
courage  to  say  it. 

"I  suppose   I   may  without   difficulty  imagine  what  it  is, 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  381 

Colonel  Greathouse,"  said  Helen,  kindly  helping  him  out  in  thf 
struggle  he  was  making.  "You  have  come,  I  suppose,  to 
claim  the  fulfilment  of  a  promise  made  you  only  a  few  days 
ago  by  a  young  lady.  She  has  not  forgotten  it,  Colonel.  She 
can  never  forget  the  obligation  that  she  owes  to  you  for  your 
noble  and  generous  conduct.  You  need  not  hesitate  to  speak 
of  the  matter,  as  I  am  quite  prepared  to  have  it  brought  up." 

Greathouse  looked  at  her  eagerly. 

"  And  suppose  I  am  here  for  that  purpose,  Miss  Graham," 
he  said,  "what  is  the  young  lady's  answer  to  the  suitor  who 
comes  to  claim  her  hand?" 

"  She  can  have  but  one  answer,  Colonel  Greathouse.  The 
subject  has  been  already  agreed  upon  between  the  parties,  so 
far  as  the  young  lady  is  concerned.  It  remains  only  with  you, 
Colonel.  I  promised  to  become  your  wife,  provided  you 
claimed  my  hand.  I  cannot  do  more  until  you  claim  your 
rights." 

"  And  are  you  ready  to  marry  me,  Miss  Graham  ?"  he  asked, 
looking  her  in  the  face. 

"  I  am,"  she  answered  without  hesitation.  "  Here  is  my 
hand  upon  it." 

He  took  her  extended  hand  and  raised  it  respectfully  to  his 
lips,  and  then,  without  retaining  it  for  an  instant,  released  it  and 
allowed  it  to  go  back  to  the  lady's  lap. 

"Do  you  know  who  I  am,  Miss  Graham?"  he  demanded,  in 
a  sad  tone.  "  Do  you  know  what  my  former  life  has  been  ? 
Do  you  know  that  I  am  Greathouse,  the  gambler  and  outlaw, 
the  man  of  violence  ?  In  short,  are  you  aware  that  I  am  called 
Bob  Greathouse,  the  murderer?" 

"I  have  heard  all  of  that,"  she  answered,  calmly,  "but  I 
knew  it  long  before  I  allowed  you  to  serve  me,  to  put  me 
under  a  load  of  obligation.  I  knew  it  all  when  I  told  you  that 
I  would  become  your  wife  if  you  would  find  and  restore  to  me 
my  father.  I  have  learned  nothing  new  of  you  since,  except  that 
you  are  braver  and  nobler  and  more  generous  than  I  thought 
you  to  be  ;  though  it  was  not  the  first  time  I  owed  my  life  to 
your  courage  and  strength.  Believe  me,  Colonel  Greathouse, 
that  I  have  nothing  more  to  learn  about  you.  I  shall  not 
become  the  wife  of  Greathouse,  the  murderer  ;  but  my  husband 
will  be  another  and  better  man.  It  will  be  Greathouse,  the 
generous  and  noble  spirit,  whom  I  know  to  be  as  good  as  he  is 
brave  and  self-sacrificing." 

He  shook  his  head  slowly. 


382  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Miss  Graham  ?  " 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  but  at  last  answered,  — 

"  Yes,  Colonel  Greathouse,  I  love  you." 

"Better  than  you  love  anybody  else?"  he  continued,  still 
looking  her  in  the  eye. 

"  Ought  you  to  put  that  question  to  me  ?"  she  asked.  "  Is 
it  fair,  under  the  circumstances  ?  If  I  consent  to  become  your 
wife  and  promise  to  love  you,  to  honor  and  obey  you  so  long 
as  I  shall  live,  can  you  ask  more  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  have  the  right  to  know  all  that  is  in 
the  heart  of  the  woman  who  is  to  become  my  wife.  If  she 
loves  or  has  ever  loved  another,  it  is  my  right  to  know  that 
fact." 

She  hesitated  for  a  time,  and  then  spoke. 

"  I  have  loved  another  gentleman,"  she  said,  "  and  very 
dearly.  But  it  began  before  I  ever  saw  or  heard  of  you,  and  I 
have  never  told  the  gentleman  of  my  love.  I  may  never  have 
the  opportunity  to  confess  it  to  him,  even  if  you  should  reject 
the  hand  that  now  is  yours  by  a  solemn  pledge." 

"Does  that  gentleman  love  you?"  he  asked  with  the  stern* 
ness  of  an  inquisitor. 

"He  did  once,"  she  said,  "and  asked  my  love  in  return. 
But  I  refused  him,  and  he  may  have  ceased  to  love  the  lady  who 
rejected  him  for  another.  Men  do  not  readily  forgive  such  a 
slight  put  upon  them.  It  would  not  be  strange  even  if  his 
love  was  now  changed  to  hatred." 

Greathouse  made  no  comment  upon  this  suggestion. 

"  The  man  for  whom  you  rejected  him  was  the  one  you  tolcj 
me  of  last  week,  was  it  not  ?  I  mean  the  man  whom  you 
promised  to  marry  when  he  should  produce  your  father." 

"  It  was  the  same,  Colonel  Greathouse." 

"You  are  free  now  from  that  pledge,  1  believe?" 

"Quite  free,  sir,  or  I  could  not  accept  you." 

He  sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  during  which  neither  spoke. 

"  Helen,"  said  he  at  last,  and  addressing  her  for  the  first  time 

in  her  life  by  her  Christian  name,  "tell  me,  if  it  were  in  your 

power  to  choose  between  that  gentleman,  whom  you  say  you 

1  loved,  and  myself,  uncontrolled  by  any  pledge  or  obligation, 

which  would  you  accept  for  your  husband?" 

Helen  burst  into  tears. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  choose,"  she  answered.  "  I  am 
ready  and  willing  to  become  your  wife,  Colonel  Greathouse, 
if  you  wish  me  to  do  so.  I  am  sure  I  shall  do  my  duty  in  that 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  383 

character.  But  you  ought  not  to  ask  me  such  questions^  I 
have  but  one  wish  and  that  is  to  do  that  which  my  duty  requires 
me  to  do." 

Greathouse  heard  patiently,  but  paid  no  heed  to  what  she 
said.  He  continued,  but  in  a  kinder  tone,  — 

"  Could  you  be  happy  with  that  gentleman  ?" 

Helen  made  no  reply  but  sat  in  her  chair  and  sobbed.  She 
felt  that  he  was  wantonly  trifling  with  recollections  that  she 
would  gladly  have  buried  with  the  dead  past.  What  right  had 
she  to  think  of  happiness,  when  she  had  turned  her  back  upon 
it  at  a  time  which  seemed  to  her  so  many  years  ago  ?  The  very 
idea  of  happiness  had  long  seemed  an  unlawful  one.  It  was 
treason  to  the  rights  of  the  living  and  to  the  sacred  memory  of 
the  dead. 

"  Could  you  be  happy  ?  "  continued  Greathouse,  at  last,  in  a 
still  softer  tone,  finding  that  no  answer  came  from  the  lady. 

"  I  do  not  think  of  happiness,  Colonel  Greathouse.  I  have 
been  taught  that  duty  is  to  be  considered  before  all  things  ;  and  'v 
it  has  appeared  for  a  long  time  past  that,  in  my  case,  duty  and 
happiness  had  parted  company.  I  shall  try  to  be  as  happy  as 
I  can,  and  at  the  same  time  do  my  duty,  in  whatever  station 
God  may  place  me." 

"  Who  is  the  gentleman,  Helen,  who  offered  you  his  love 
and  was  rejected?" 

"  It  is  not  my  secret,  Colonel  Greathouse  ;  I  have  no  right 
to  disclose  the  secrets  of  another." 

"Was  it  Mr.  Stacey?"  he  continued,  without  noticing  her 
answer. 

Helen  made  no  reply. 

"  Was  it  Mr.  Henry  Stacey,  Helen  ?" 

This  he  said  with  a  manner  that  expressed  so  much  kindness 
that  she  could  not  refuse  an  answer,  but  bowed  an  affirmative 
and  continued  her  sobs. 

"Helen,"  said  Greathouse,  "I  wish  to  ask  of  you  a  favor. 
I  am  going  away,  and  may  not  have  an  opportunity  of  asking 
another." 

She  regarded  him  inquiringly  and  waited  for  him  to  proceed. 

"  This  evening  Mr.  Stacey  will  call  here.  I  shall  myself  ask 
him  to  call,  saying  that  you  have  a  word  for  his  ear ;  but  I  shall 
give  him  no  other  explanation.  When  he  comes,  I  wish  you 
to  say  to  him  what  you  have  said  to  me.  Tell  him  that  I  had 
the  promise  of  your  hand  but  that  I  occupied  only  a  secondary 
place  in  your  heart.  That  I  have  yielded  up  my  right  to  him 


384:  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE, 

should  he  choose  to  accept  it.  If  he  refuses  you,  Helen,  then 
I  will  come  and  claim  my  bride.  Should  he  do  so  he  will 
return  to  me  to-morrow  and  tell  me  what  he  has  done.  But  if, 
on  the  other  hand,  his  love  still  burns  brightly,  then  I  shall  not 
see  you  again  for  years,  perhaps  never.  I  shall,  therefore,  take 
leave  of  you  now." 

"Why  do  you  leave  me? "'cried  Helen.  "Not  in  anger  or 
in  disappointment,  I  trust.  After  so  generous  a  deed,  surely 
you  do  not  feel  that  I  could  consent  to  your  going  away  so  sud 
denly." 

"No,  Miss  Graham,"  he  said,  "I  have  already  remained 
here  longer  than  was  right  for  me  to  remain.  I,  too,  have  a 
duty  to  perform,  and  am  trying  to  do  it  as  well  as  I  can.  I 
have  seldom  done  my  duty  in  this  life.  Sometimes  I  allow  my- 
se-lf  the  luxury,  and  now  I  feel  in  the  humor  to  do  so  once 
more.  It  was  my  duty  to  serve  you  when  you  were  in  great 
trouble,  as  you  were  a  short  time  since ;  and  it  was  my  duty  as 
a  gentleman  to  do  it  without  your  making  the  promise  which, 
in  your  zeal  in  your  father's  cause,  you  made.  Believe  me, 
Miss  Graham,  1  should  have  done  all  that  I  did  had  you  not 
mentioned  the  subject  cf  marriage.  Having  brought  you 
through  your  difficulties,  having  added  something  to  your 
happiness,  it  was  my  duty  not  to  make  you  miserable  by  exact 
ing  compliance  with  a  pled^2  forced  from  you  by  the  desperate 
straits  to  which,  by  the  wickedness  of  others,  you  had  been 
brought.  Had  I  insisted  on  your  performing  that  promise,  my 
conduct  would  have  been  similar  to  that  of  the  coast-marauder 
who  robs  and  murders  shipwrecked  mariners  as  they  faintly^ 
struggle  up  from  the  angry  waves  that  have  barely  failed  to! 
destroy  them.  It  would  have  been  like  that  of  the  receiver  of 
stolen  goods,  who  demands  the  lion's  share  of  the  booty  for  his 
trifling  risk.  Bloodstone  had  siezed  the  pearl  and  was  bearing 
it  triumphantly  away,  when  the  hue  and  cry  came  so  sharply 
after  him  that  he  was  forced  to  let  fall  the  plunder  and  save 
himself.  You  became  a  waif — goods  abandoned  by  this  robber 
in  his  flight.  Was  it  for  Robert  Greathouse  to  plunder  the 
felon,  to  filch  from  the  thief,  under  pretence  of  bringing  him  to 
justice  ?  The  wrecker  who  saves  a  cargo  is  entitled  tu  compen 
sation  ;  but  it  must  be  a  reasonable  one  and  cannot  extend  to 
all  the  goods  rescued.  He  cannot  become  more  remorseless 
than  the  angry  ocean  from  which  the  mariner  has  escaped.  I 
will  accept  a  reasonable  compensation,  Miss  Graham.  I  have 
rescued  you  from  Bloodstone,  into  whose  hands  you  had  fallen. 


I   UN.: 

KOBERT  GREATHOUSE.  385 

^^4i^ 

The  treasure  saved  cannot  be  divided  and  I  am  not  entitled  to' 
all.  I  will  accept  ^  my  portion  in  the  pleasure  it  will  be  to  me 
to  see  you  happy  in  the  love  of  the  man  who  already  posesses 
your  heart.  You  said  that  you  knew  me,  Helen  ;  but  the  offer 
you  made  to  induce  me  to  serve  you  was  not  a  compliment  to 
me.  I  would  have  been  indeed  a  wretch  had  I  taken  advan 
tage  of  your  misfortune  to  gain  so  precious  a  prize  as  your  hand 
in  marriage." 

"Forgive  me,  Colonel  Greathouse,  I  did  not  think  of  that. 
I  only  thought  of  your  bravery  and  the  reward  that  I  thought  it 
deserved.  I  felt  that  if  you  saved  me  from  destruction  —  from 
a  fate  worse  than  death,  that  all  I  possessed  was  justly  yours. 
I  did  not  think  of  what  you  would  do  with  me  when  I  came  to 
be  your  own  to  dispose  of.  I  should  not  have  thought  you  un 
generous  had  you  exacted  that  which  I  felt  to  be  your  due. 
Your  conduct  in  releasing  me  to  go  with  my  heart  is  only  an 
additional  proof  of  a  greatness  of  soul  that  I  already  knew  you 
to  possess." 

^  I  thank  you,  Helen,  for  your  good  opinion.  It  is  alone  a 
sufficient  reward  for  all  I  have  done.  I  shall  leave  this  Terri 
tory,  taking  a  precious  treasure  in  the  esteem  of  the  lady  I  love." 

"  Whither  do  you  go,  Colonel  Greathouse  ?  " 

"I  go  to  join  my  people,  as  I  told  you  some  time  since  I 
felt  it  my  duty  to  do.  I  know,  Helen,  that  you  will  think  that 
I  fight  for  the  bad  cause  against  the  good  ;  that  I  take  up  the 
side  of  the  lordly  master  against  the  suffering  slave  ;  that  I 
draw  my  sword  in  the  battle  of  darkness  and  superstition,  and 
against  education,  and  freedom,  and  progress." 

"  No,  Colonel,"  cried  Helen,  "  do  not  think  that  I  blame  you 
for  anything.  To  me  you  are  good,  noble  and  generous,  and 
will  always  be  so." 

"  But,"  he  continued,  without  heeding  her,  "  all  of  this  may 
be  true  •  I  have  not  reasoned  about  it ;  I  do  not  pretend  to 
reduce  my  ideas  to  the  rules  of  logic.  I  follow  my  affections 
wherever  they  may  lead  me.  I  only  know  that  my  people,  my 
kindred,  have  sent  forth  a  wail  of  anguish  that  has  reached  me. 
I  cannot  remain  deaf  to  the  appeal.  I  cannot  shut  out  the 
calls  of  the  friends  of  my  youth  for  me  to  come  and  help  them 
in  the  time  of  their  sore  peril,  and  I  must  go.  If  they  are  in 
error,  I  will  share  in  the  mistake.  If  they  are  wicked,  I  will 
go  and  be  wicked  with  them.  I  would  rather  be  wrong  with 
my  friends,  than  right  with  my  enemies.  And  in  the  North, 
Miss  Graham,  I  am  amongst  enemies.  I  am  surrounded  by 


386  ROBERT   GREATIIOUSE. 

people  with  whom  I  have  no  sympathy.  I  know  that  my  life 
has  not  been  such  a  life  as  perhaps  entitles  me  to  the  sympathy 
of  people  so  different  from  me  as  are  those  who  now  surround 
me  ;  but  such  as  it  has  been,  at  least  I  cannot  be  expected  to 
apologize  for  it.  Some  will  say,  that  what  I  am,  that  have  I 
been  made  by  the  very  system  of  slavery,  in  behalf  of  which 
I  go  away  to  fight,  perhaps  to  die.  All  of  that  may  be  true. 
But  I  do  not  go  to  fight  for  slavery  ;  I  go  to  fight  with  my  friends 
and  kindred,  and  against  those  with  whom  they  are  at  war. 
What  they  suffer,  that  will  1  suffer.  If  they  lose,  1  will  lose 
with  them,  and  if  they  triumph,  I  will  be  there  to  rejoice  with 
my  people's  joy.  This  to  me  is  a  matter  of  duty,  perhaps  a 
mistaken  one,  but,  in  a  lifetime  of  mistakes,  one  more  or  less 
can  make  no  great  difference." 

"  When  do  you  leave,  Colonel  Greathouse  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  afternoon,"  he  answered.  "  Before  that  time 
Helen,  you  will  be  happy  in  the  love  and  confidence  of  the 
man  to  whom  you  have  given  your  heart.  I,  too,  shall  be 
happy  in  the  consciousness  of  having,  for  at  least  once  in  my 
life,  done  my  duty,  by  giving  you  up  to  the  object  of  your 
choice ;  for  this  time,  1  am  sure,  there  has  been  no  mistake. 
When  the  war  is  over,  Helen,"  he  said,  rising  to  take  his  leave, 
"I  hope  to  meet  you  again  ;  if  I  do  not,  it  will  be  because  I 
shall  have  perished  in  that  struggle,  into  which  my  heart  and 
not  my  reason  has  drawn  me.  Remember  my  request,  when 
Mr.  Stacey  comes  this  evening,"  he  said ;  and  taking  her  hand, 
he  raised  it  once  more  to  his  lips  and  withdrew. 

Helen  remained  by  the  window  in  deep  meditation,  until  her 
father  and  Blanche  returned.  They  had  been  placing  ilowers 
on  the  grave  of  the  departed  one,  and  the  effect  of  the  sad 
employment  still  sat  heavily  upon  them. 

After  dinner,  Harry  Stacey  came  in.  It  was  an  unusual 
circumstance  now  for  him  to  more  than  look  in  upon  the 
family  in  a  casual  way ;  but  this  time  he  sat  down,  and 
appeared  to  have  come  to  spend  the  evening. 

Helen  understood  perfectly  well  what  his  business  was  ;  but 
the  others  only  thanked  him  for  a  friendly  visit. 

Mr.  Graham,  as  was  his  custom  now,  retired  early,  and  left 
the  two  young  ladies  to  entertain  the  visitor. 

For  a  time  they  sat  together  and  conversed  upon  general 
subjects,  but  soon  Blanche,  with  a  true  woman's  tact,  contrived 
to  slip  out  of  the  room  upon  some  pretence  that  kept  her 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  387 

busily  going  back  and  forth  from  time  to  time,  between  the 
parlor  and  Helen's  sleeping  room,  as  long  as  Harry  stayed. 

Helen  felt  deeply  the  charge  put  upon  her  by  Greathouse, 
and  scarcely  knew  how  to  go  about  it.  How  could  she  broach 
such  a  subject  to  a  young  gentleman  as  he  had  exacted  a 
promise  from  her  to  do  ? 

But  Harry  relieved  her  from  the  task.  He  knew  Helen  too 
well  to  believe  that,  with  her  principles,  she  would  send  for 
him  now  for  any  purpose  save  that  of  giving  him  to  under 
stand  that  her  situation  had  changed,  and  that  now  he  might 
hope  to  win  her  love.  So  that,  directly  that  Blanche  left  the 
room,  he  boldly  asked  her  if  the  summons  she  had  sent  him 
was  in  any  manner  connected  with  the  affair  that  lay  so  near 
his  heart  ? 

Helen  blushed,  but  the  answer  came  freely  from  her  lips. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Stacey,"  she  said,  "it  is." 

"You  make  me  very  happy,"  he  cried,  u  for  my  heart 
remains  the  same  as  when  I  laid  it  at  your  feet  before.  I  am 
only  too  glad  to  again  ask  your  love.  My  position  has  not 
been  changed,  nor  have  my  sentiments  towards  you,  Miss 
Graham.  I  am  still  in  the  employment  of  your  father,  and 
love  you  more  than  ever.  To-day  Colonel  Greathouse  came 
to  see  me,  and,  after  conversing  with  me  for  a  time,  told  me 
that  he  had  just  come  from  making  a  parting  call  upon  you, 
before  going  away  out  of  the  country.  I  expressed  my  sorrow 
that  he  had  determined  to  leave  us,  but  he  said  that  the 
resolution  was  irrevocable.  Having  shaken  hands  with  me, 
he  was  about  to  leave,  when  he  suddenly  remembered  that 
he  had  a  message  from  you  to  me.  He  said  that  Miss 
Graham  had  requested  him  to  ask  me  to  call  and  see  her,  and 
spend  the  evening  at  No.  16.  I  thanked  him,  and  promised 
to  do  so,  and  he  went  his  way.  I  cannot  tell  you.  Helen,  how 
much  pleasure  the  message  gave  me.  It  was  the  light  that  sud 
denly  bursts  upon  the  gaze  of  the  wanderer  in  a  wilderness.  I 
knew  you  too  well  to  doubt  that  it  conveyed  much  more  than 
the  words  expresseo.  I  felt  that  it  meant  all  that  I  could  wish 
you  to  say.  Helen,  am  I  right  ?  Speak  to  me,  and  put  my 
heart  at  rest." 

"Yes^  Harry,"  she  answered,  "you  were  entirely  correct  in 
your  opinions  as  to  my  object  in  sending  you  the  message.  I 
feel  that  in  this  room,  where  my  mother  so  often  spoke  of 
you,  where  perhaps  her  spirit  now  hovers  over  us,  I  may,  better 
than  elsewhere,  tell  you  what  is  the  truth,  that  I  have  loved 


388  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

you  a  long,  long  time, — much  longer  than  perhaps  I  ought  to 
confess,  for  it  may  date  back  to  a  period  more  remote  than  your 
own  love  for  me." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  cried  Harry,  "  unless  you  loved  me 
before  you  ever  saw  me,  for  my  love  commenced  with  the  day 
I  met  you  for  the  first  time." 

The  rhapsodies  of  a  lover  are  seldom  interesting  to  any  save 
the  object  of  his  passion.  For  an  hour  the  two  exchanged 
vows  and  related  the  history  of  their  affection  during  the 
year  of  trial  that  each  had  undergone  since  their  first  meeting 
in  San  Francisco. 

When  Blanche  returned  to  the  room  to  resume  her  seat, 
she  knew  by  the  manner  of  the  two  that  something  unusual 
had  occurred  ;  but  she  had  never  been  the  confidant  of  Helen 
in  the  matter  of  her  love  for  Harry,  and  of  late  the  young 
gentleman  had  communicated  nothing  to  her. 

The  secret  of  the  engagement  with  Bloodstone  had  been 
faithfully  kept  by  him,  so  that  no  one  knew  of  it  save  the  par 
ties  immediately  interested.  Blanche  had  never  had  even  a 
suspicion  of  the  strange  affair.  This  evening  she  felt,  however, 
quite  sure  that  the  question  of  love  had  been  discussed  between 
the  young  couple. 

After  Harry  had  gone,  and  the  young  ladies  had  retired  to 
bed,  she  taxed  Helen  with  having  received  a  proposal  from  the 
young  lawyer.  Helen  had  now  no  reason  for  concealing  her 
love,  and  so  confessed  the  fact  to  her  friend.  She  was  full  of 
joy  at  the  new  life  that  was  dawning  upon  her.  There  was 
but  one  pang  to  impair  the  bliss  that  had  taken  possession  of 
her  soul.  It  was  the  reflection  that  her  darling  mother  had 
died  without  knowing  of  the  love  of  the  two  for  each  other. 
"  Could  she  have  known  all,"  sighed  poor  Helen,  "I  am  sure 
that  her  heart  would  have  been  spared  at  least  one  sorrow 
that  made  her  burden  so  hard  to  bear." 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  389 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

JACK    GOWDY    HANDS    IN    HIS    CHECKS. 

THE  secret  of  the  rescue  of  Mr.  Graham  was  well  kept. 
Greathouse  charged  his  friends  Gowdy  and  Bowers  to  remem 
ber  that  they  were  gentlemen,  and  that  their  word  had  been 
pledged  not  to  divulge  what  had  occurred.  "  We  have  kept 
faith  with  them,  and  by  doing  it  obtained  all  we  asked.  Let 
us  not  go  back  upon  our  promises."  They  only  answered  that 
no  more  elegant  gentlemen  than  themselves  ever  walked  on 
top  of  the  earth,  and  that  gentlemen  never  lied. 

Jack,  however,  was  so  proud  of  the  exploit  they  had  per 
formed,  that  he  would  not  resume  his  place  upon  the  box  till  it 
was  properly  celebrated,  at  least,  by  a  fitting  carouse.  Indeed, 
he  would  not  commence  driving  the  coach  again,  while  his 
money  lasted,  even  if  the  stage  company  had  wished  it.  But 
they  did  not  wish  it.  They,  the  very  next  day  after  the  exploit, 
issued  orders  for  Jack's  discharge  from  his  employment.  Fif 
teen  horses  had  been  killed  outright  in  the  drunken  freak  of. 
running  away  with  the  coach, —  for  so  it  was  thought  to  have 
been, — besides  a  still  greater  number  seriously  injured. 

"  Jack  was,"  so  the  president  of  the  stage  company  said,  "  a 
faithful  man,  and  a  good  driver,  as  long  as  he  kept  sober  ;  but 
when  drunk,  he  was  fearfully  reckless, —  he  must  be  dis 
charged." 

Yet  it  is  only  just  to  Jack  to  record  that  he  was  not  dis 
charged.  Jack  Gowdy  had  never  been  discharged  in  his  life, 
so  he  said,  'from  any  employment.  He  always  discharged  him 
self,  when  he  was  guilty  of  any  such  misdemeanor  as  the 
one  that  had  just  occurred.  His  habit  was  to  stay  from  the 
office  till  he  was  sent  for  to  come  and  resume  his  duties.  If 
he  never  received  this  command,  then  he  assumed  that  he  had 
left  the  company' s  service  of  his  own  accord. 

The  morning  after  the  arrival  of  Greathouse  and  his  friends, 
the  stage  company's  agent  learned  that  a  coach  and  six  horses 


390  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

had  been  left,  during  the  night,  in  an  open  yard  near  the  Gra 
ham  mine.  This  proved  to  be  Gowdy's  coach,  who,  as  the 
agent  had  already  learned  by  telegraph,  had,  in  a  drunken  frolic, 
run  away  from  Folsom  with  a  coach  and  three  passengers. 
The  horses  were  sent  to  the  stable,  and  the  coach  brought  to 
the  yard.  As  for  the  driver,  it  was  said  that  he  had  been  seen 
in  company  with  an  ox-teamster,  named  Joe  Bowers,  going 
about  the  town  still  in  a  state  of  intoxication.  Upon  consult 
ing  the  chief  officer  at  Sacramento  by  telegraph,  directions 
came  not  to  employ  the  delinquent  again.  This  last  outbreak 
was  altogether  of  too  serious  a  nature  to  be  passed  over.  It 
was  not  necessary  to  communicate  this  decision  to  Gowdy,  at 
least  until  he  should  call  and  ask  to  be  allowed  to  resume  his 
place.  And  this,  it  was  known,  he  would  scarcely  do  without 
an  intimation  in  advance  that  his  services  were  desired. 

The  five  hundred  dollars  that  had  been  so  carefully  preserved 
for  the  benefit  of  Miss  Graham  were  now  no  longer  needed  in 
that  quarter.  So  the  sum  was  drawn  from  the  bank,  and  the 
two  friends,  Jack  and  Joe,  made  the  gambling  saloons  and 
dead-falls  of  Virginia  ring  with  the  sound  of  their  revelry. 
Everybody  was  obliged  to  drink,  and  anybody  that  chose 
could  borrow  a  stake  to  go  against  faro,  while  the  sum  lasted. 
But  that  was  not  long.  Jack's  course  was  like  that  of  a  splen 
did  sky-rocket.  He  blazed  while  he  mounted.  When  it  was 
all  gone,  the  two  friends  held  a  council  of  war. 

"  We  are  coming  down  to  a  white-check  game,"  said  th*> 
>•  stage  driver  to  his  friend  who  drove  oxen  for  a  livelihood. 
"This  won't  do.  We  must  not  forget  that  we  are  gentlemei^, 
and  as  good  as  ever  walked  on  top  of  ground.  We  can't  hang 
around  a  Washoe  dead-fall,  like  a  pair  of  sneaking  blue-bellied 
Yankees  from  New  York,  betting  half  dollars  on  case  cards. 
If  we  can't  go  against  it  with  red  checks,  as  becomes  gentle 
men,  we  will  just  pass  out  and  quit.  That  is  my  hand,  Joe. 
What  do  you  say?" 

That  was  also  Joe's  hand,  said  that  gentleman,  and  so  they 
passed  out. 

"  Your  oxen  must  have  filled  their  bellies  full  of  Carson  Val 
ley  sage  bushes  and  grease-wood  by  this  time,  and  are  ready  to 
go  to  work  again.  Don't  you  think  so,  Joe  ?" 

"Yes,  Jack,  they  have  been  grazing  long  enough  to  get  fat, 
if  the  Indians  have  let  them  alone." 

"  Well,  Joe,  go  down  and  look  after  your  cattle.  I  will  see 
what  I  can  find  to  do.  We  must  have  some  money,  somehow. 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  391 

A  gentleman  in  this  country  without  money  don't  amount  to 
much.  He  is  like  a  sardine  amongst  a  lot  of  sharks.  He  is 
no  better  than  a  Yankee  school-master,  and  not  half  as  good  as 
a  free  nigger.  It  will  never  do  for  two  gentlemen  to  come 
down  to  any  such  a  grade  as  that,  Joe." 

This,  also,  was  the  ox-driver's  opinion.  So  they  separated. 
Jack  went  in  pursuit  of  employment  in  the  line  of  what  he 
called  his  legitimate  profession.  But  he  did  not  find  the  mat 
ter  an  easy  one.  He  had  only  been  a  week  in  spending  his 
money,  and  the  news  of  his  last  escapade  was  still  fresh  in  the 
town.  His  old  place  had  been  filled  by  another  driver,  and 
the  California  lines  did  not  dare  to  trust  so  wild  a  fellow  with 
their  horses.  After  running  about  the  streets  all  day,  he  at  last 
agreed  with  the  overland  company  to  drive  for  them.  These 
coaches  formed  a  line  that  traversed  the  great  wilderness  of  two 
thousand  miles  in  breadth  that  separated  California  from  the 
Valley  of  the  Mississippi.  The  land  was  inhabited  with  roving 
tribes  of  savages.  Careful  drivers  could  not  be  found  to  go 
upon  so  perilous  a  route.  They  were  not  looked  for.  A 
great  government  subvention  was  paid  for  carrying  the  mails. 
And  so  the  coaches  must  go  every  day  in  spite  of  the  Indians. 
Anybody  who  could  be  found  sufficiently  desperate  to  sit  upon 
the  box,  and  who  cared  little  enough  for  his  life  to  take  the 
risk,  could  always  find  employment  to  drive  an  overland  coach. 

"  It  is  a  hard  life,"  muttered  Jack,  "but  I  must  do  some 
thing.  I  am  a  gentleman,  and  not  a  lunch-eating  bummer,  and 
so  I  must  earn  a  livelihood  in  a  gentlemanly  way.  I  will  take 
this  place,"  he  reasoned  to  himself,  "for  a  little  while,  till  they 
forget  about  my  last  scrape.  Then  1  will  come  back  to  society 
and  civilization  once  more." 

But  before  starting  away  he  went  to  see  Helen  Graham. 
He  had  not  been  near  the  hotel  since  the  affair  of  the  rescue. 
Indeed,  he  had  not  been  in  condition  to  go. 

"  A  gentleman,"  said  he  to  Joe  Bowers,  one  day  when  they 
were  speaking  of  the  Graham  family,  "  can't  call  upon  a  lady 
except  when  he  is  at  his  best.  Sometimes  his  best  is  nothing 
to  brag  of.  But  anyhow,  he  can  never  appear  too  well  when 
he  enters  the  presence  of  a  lady.  When  I  get  sober,  Joe,  I 
will  put  myself  in  presentable  condition,  and  make  one  call, 
just  to  thank  that  beautiful  young  lady  for  all  the  favors  she 
has  done  for  me.  And,  Joe,  I  can  never  be  grateful  enough  to 
her  for  the  kindness  she  has  shown  to  me.  Indeed  I  can't.  It 
is  perfectly  impossible." 


392  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

So  Jack,  the  first  day  that  he  was  sober,  which  was  the  day 
his  money  gave  out,  dressed  himself  as  smartly  as  possible,  and 
called  at  No.  16  to  tell  Helen  that  he  was  going  away,  and  to 
thank  her  for  her  unfailing  kindness  to  the  stage-driver.  He 
was  the  one  who  had  received  the  favors,  in  his  opinion.  The 
idea  that  he  had  conferred  a  benefit  never  entered  his  mind. 
What  he  had  done  it  was  his  duty  to  do,  being  a  gentleman. 
Her  sweet  smiles  and  pleasant  greetings  to  him  had  been  works 
of  genuine  kindness,  only  to  be  repaid  by  a  life-time  of  grati 
tude  to  the  beautiful  lady.  The  hall  door  was  wide  open  when 
he  arrived,  and,  looking  in,  he  found  all  the  other  doors  also 
open,  and  the  windows  raised  up  to  let  in  the  air.  The  beds 
were  lying  scattered  about  the  floor  in  confusion,  and  the 
chairs  were  tumbled  about  upon  their  backs,  while  two  stout 
chamber-maids,  with  brooms  in  their  hands,  talking  and  laugh 
ing  loudly,  were  sending  the  dust  and  feathers  in  great  clouds 
about  the  place. 

"Where  is  Miss  Graham?"  demanded  Jack,  with  a  sinking 
sensation  in  his  breast. 

"  All  gone,  sir,"  was  the  loud  and  prompt  answer  of  the  bois 
terous  maids.  "  Left  this  morning  at  daylight.  Gone  over  the 
mountains,  sir." 

Jack  turned  and  went  sorrowfully  down  the  stairs. 

"I  only  wanted  to  tell  her  how  kind  she  had  been  to  me," 
he  said,  with  a  tear  dimming  the  corner  of  his  eye,  "  and  how 
much  happiness  I  have  had  in  being  able  to  speak  to  her  once 
in  a  while.  So  much  for  getting  drunk,"  said  he.  "  I  might 
have  known  that  she  would  not  stay  in  this  miserable,  God-for 
saken  place,  after  her  father  came  back  to  her.  I  ought  to 
have  come  sooner,  and  can  only  blame  myself.  But  I  could 
have  gone  amongst  the  red-skins  with  a  better  heart,  if  I  could 
have  taken  with  me  one  more  smile  from  that  beautiful  lady." 

But  it  was  too  late,  and  the  stage-driver  mounted  his  box 
and  turned  his  face  sadly  towards  the  wilderness.  It  was,  in 
deed,  a  hard  country  to  which  Jack  had  been  driven  by  an  ad 
verse  fortune.  An  area  of  unproductive  territory,  stretching 
over  hundreds  of  miles,  with  scarcely  a  bush  to  break  the  ever 
lasting  monotony  of  dreariness.  Over  this,  at  will,  wandered 
hordes  of  savages,  ready  at  all  times  to  boldly  give  battle,  or  to 
lay  in  ambush  and  stealthily  crawl  upon  the  wayfarer  and  mur 
der  him  outright,  or  capture  and  put  to  death  by  lingering  tor 
ture,  as  the  relative  strength  of  the  parties  would  seem  to  ren 
der  the  most  desirable  to  their  bloodthirsty  natures.  At  con- 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  393 

venient  intervals  of  twenty  miles  were  fortified  stations,  where 
the  horses  were  kept  guarded  by  a  small  band  of  armed  men. 
Between  those  little  strongholds  the  stage  driver  pursued  his 
perilous  course,  defending  himself  as  best  he  could. 

Jack  resolved  from  the  first  to  remain  in  this  employment 
the  shortest  time  that  would  suffice  to  cause  his  last  exploit  in 
Washoe  to  be  forgotten,  and  then  to  return.  So  he  took  the 
best  care  of  himself.  He  chewed  such  tobacco  as  came  in  his 
way,  though  sighing  for  the  beautiful  "  fine-cut"  that  only  resi 
dents  within  civilized  districts  could  command  and  obtain. 
But  whiskey  he  studiously  abstained  from. 

"Not  now,  boys,"  he  said,  when  invited  to  drink  the  "  tangle 
leg,"  as  it  was  called,  of  the  road,  "no  whiskey  for  Jack,  while 
he  lives  in  this  abominable  place." 

Two  months  passed  drearily  away  in  this  manner,  and  Jack 
began  to  count  the  days  when  he  would  turn  his  face  again 
westward,  to  the  fair  fields  and  green  woods  of  California. 
One  month  longer  would,  he  was  sure,  expiate  for  all  the  harm 
he  had  done  in  running  away  with  the  coach.  "  As  good  a  dri 
ver  as  I  am  can  find  employment  somewhere.  I  will  make  the 
effort  in  a  month." 

One  day,  about  this  time,  Jack  was  waiting  for  the  western 
bound  coach  to  come  to  his  most  easterly  station.  He  was  to 
take  the  place  of  the  other  driver  who  stopped  there,  and  re 
turned  again  east.  When  the  coach  drove  up  to  the  door, 
Jack  observed  that  it  was  not  empty,  as  was  generally  the  case 
just  at  that  time.  Of  late,  the  road  had  been  made  especially 
dangerous  by  the  encroachments  of  the  Apaches.  This  savage 
tribe  had  come  north,  from  the  borders  of  Mexico,  and  com 
mitted  a  great  many  murders  upon  the  emigrants  passing  over 
the  country,  and  the  stages,  for  the  time,  were  usually  without 
passengers.  But  even  now,  the  company  that  Jack  was  to 
have  did  not  promise  to  add  much  to  his  personal  security  on 
the  road.  It  was  a  most  helpless  little  band  of  travellers  that 
had  come  to  Jack  to  be  escorted  on  the  journey.  The  most 
effective  one  of  the  company  of  four  souls,  proved  to  be  a  wo 
man  of  five-and-twenty  years  of  age.  The  others  were  her 
three  children,  two  girls  and  a  boy,  this  latter  an  infant  in 
arms.  The  eldest,  a  girl  of  six  years,  had  a  profusion  of  light 
curls  falling  over  her  shoulders,  and  with  bright  blue  eyes  that 
went  to  Jack's  heart  at  a  glance.  The  mother  had  journeyed 
over  the  dreary  road  for  hundreds  of  miles,  on  her  way  to  join 
her  husband  in  the  mines  of  the  extreme  west.  So,  from  sta- 


394  ROBERT   GREATIIOUSE. 

tion  to  station,  each  stage-driver  handing  her  and  her  little 
ones  over  with  a  word  of  hearty  commendation  to  the  next, 
she  had  toiled  on  her  journey,  her  very  helplessness  proving 
her  chief  protection.  The  mother  had  long  since  learned  to 
depend  with  unerring  certainty  upon  the  rough  courtesy  of  the 
stage-driver  for  all  needful  assistance  and  protection  that 
man  could  render  her.  Whenever  overwhelming  force  should 
come,  she  knew  that  she  was  in  the  hands  of  God,  and  must 
abide  his  decrees.  So  she  said  little  to  Jack,  her  experience 
telling  her  that  all  that  he  could  do  to  aid  her  would  be  done 
when  necessary,  without  any  special  application  on  her  part. 
But  the  blue-eyed  daughter  was  more  communicative.  She, 
perhaps,  felt  but  lightly  the  dangers  that  beset  their  path,  and 
the  time  rested  heavily  upon  her  young  nature.  At  all  events, 
she  and  the  driver  were  soon  great  friends.  This  led  to  an  ac 
quaintance  with  the  mother,  so  that  before  the  day  was  far  ad 
vanced  Jack  had  learned  the  history  of  the  whole  family,  —  from 
whence  they  had  come  and  whither  they  were  going. 

At  each  station,  while  the  horses  were  being  changed,  he 
handed  them  politely  out  of  the  coach,  and  with  his  own  hand 
fetched  them  food  and  refreshments,  generally  from  his  own 
stores  and  at  his  own  expense.  The  little  blue-eyed  beauty, 
whom  he  had  already  attached  to  himself  as  a  warm  friend  for  life, 
so  they  said  and  agreed,  always  descended  from  the  coach  when 
he  did,  and  went  with  him  about  the  station  with  the  familiar 
confidence  of  a  friendship  of  years  standing.  In  the  afternoon 
their  road  lay  through  a  dangerous  pass.  One  of  those  nar 
row  defiles,  so  common  upon  the  great  American  plains,  where 
the  mountains  coming  close  together,  the  narrow  gorge  is  filled 
up  with  great  rocks,  that  in  ages  gone  by  have  been  detached 
from  their  resting-places  far  up  towards  the  summit,  and  have 
rolled  down,  to  pile  up  in  mighty  confusion  at  the  point  of 
meeting  half  way  between  the  two.  If  any  Indians  should  by 
chance  infest  the  road,  that  would  be  their  choice  spot  for  an 
ambuscade.  This  Jack  knew  full  well.  And,  out  of  care  for 
the  mother  and  children,  made  special  inquiry  at  the  last  station 
before  reaching  it,  as  to  the  prudence  of  the  woman  and  her 
family  going  on  that  night.  As  for  the  coach,  it  bore  the  mails, 
and  must  go  on,  no  matter  what  stood  in  the  way  to  deter  the 
adventure.  The  answer  was,  that  there  was  no  reason  to  fear 
exceptional  danger.  The  day  was  as  propitious  a  time  as  any 
to  go  through  the  pass.  Jack  told  the  mother  of  the  perils  that 
might  come  upon  them.  But  the  woman  had  already  passed 


ROBERT   GREATIIOUSE.  395 

over  hundreds  of  miles  of  danger,  and  through  scores  of  simi 
lar  passes,  and  continued  immunity  had  rendered  her  confident 
She  was  going  to  join  her  husband,  and  was  in  the  hands  of  di 
vine  Providence.  It  had  protected,  so  far,  in  safety  ;  it  would 
not,  she  was  sure,  let  her  at  this  late  period  perish  by  the  way 
side.  Besides,  she  had  found  Jack  especially  kind  and  consid 
erate  amongst  all  the  kind-hearted  frontiersmen  with  whom  she 
had  met.  She  would  not  leave  him,  but  would  go  on  if  he 
went.  We  have  already  said  that  Jack  must  go  on.  So  when 
the  horses  were  put  in,  he  examined  his  six-shooters  carefully, 
and  finding  them  all  right,  handed  in  his  passengers.  When  he 
came  to  his  blue-eyed  favorite,  he  lifted  her  up,  and  took  a  kis?, 
and  then  placed  her  snugly  in  the  seat  by  her  mother's  side. 
"Be  a  little  soldier,"  he  said,  stroking  her  curls,  "and  don't  let 
your  mother  get  frightened  at  anything.  If  you  hear  the  red 
skins  you  must  all  squat  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  coach,  and  wait 
till  I  tell  you,  befoie  doing  anything  else."  This  said,  the  wild 
mustangs  had  the  lash  cracked  over  their  heads,  and  they 
plunged  out  into  the  sea  of  sage  brush  that  covers  the  great 
plains.  Soon  they  left  the  level  country  and  entered  the  hills. 
For  two  hours  they  rattled  gaily  along  through  the  deep  moun 
tain  gorge  that  Jack  feared  to  be  so  dangerous,  whirling  in  and 
out  amongst  the  huge  rocks,  that,  like  towers  and  castle  walls, 
hemmed  in  the  narrow  road  upon  all  sides.  But  their  progress, 
thus  far,  was  made  with  safety.  He  had  scanned  carefully  each 
rock,  and  each  tree,  as  he  drove  up  to  it,  fearing  to  see  a  sav 
age  spring  out  on  his  path  with  the  Apache's  war-whoop,  boding 
torture  and  death  to  all.  But  the  rocks  were  still  innocent  of 
ambuscade,  or  evil  purpose,  and  now  he  had  journeyed  almost 
beyond  the  dangerous  path,  and  was  rapidly  drawing  towards 
the  level  country.  The  gorge  opened  out  wider  and  wider  ;  the 
piles  of  rock  receded  from  the  road  to  the  right  and  to  the  left, 
and  the  flat  line  of  sage  brush  again  came  into  view  in  the  dis 
tance.  Jack  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  "  I  was  more  fright 
ened  than  hurt  that  time,"  he  thought.  "  I  must  be  getting  a  little 
cowardly  in  my  old  age."  But  he  had  congratulated  himself  too 
soon.  The  danger  was  not  past,  for  at  this  moment  a  horrid 
yell  arose  from  the  rocks  and  trees  in  advance  of  his  route  on 
each  side,  and  was  echoed  in  fearful  tones  from  hill  to  hill  across 
the  road  he  was  about  to  pass.  It  was  the  war-whoop  of  the 
Apaches,  a  sound  that  Jack  had  heard  many  times  before  on 
the  Gila,  and  he  knew  well  what  it  signified.  It  was  death,  in 
its  most  horrid  and  revolting  form,  by  fire,  and  torture  to  all 


ROBER  T  GREA  77/0  USE. 

who  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  savages.  The  Indians  were  in 
ambush  on  either  side  of  the  road,  and  in  irresistible  force. 
He  could  see  their  heads  looking  over  the  rocks  on  each  side, 
and  he  knew  full  well  that  the  number  in  concealment  was  even 
greater  than  those  who  showed  themselves.  There  was  but 
one  certain  means  of  escape  open  to  the  driver,  and  that  only 
provided  for  his  own  safety,  to  the  sacrifice  of  the  passengers 
inside  the  coach.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  road,  when  an 
overland  coach  was  attacked  by  an  overwhelming  force  of  In 
dians,  for  the  driver  to  spring  from  his  place  on  the  box,  and 
with  his  knife  detach  a  horse  from  the  team,  and,  mounting  him, 
escape.  This  rule  was  so  firmly  established,  that  men  were 
employed  to  drive  with  the  understanding  that  this  was  their 
privilege,  as  it  was  generally  their  only  hope  of  escaping  a  cer 
tain  and  cruel  death.  It  was  the  driver's  plank  in  a  shipwreck. 
Without  this  rule  men  could  not  have  been  induced  to  accept 
the  employment.  Passengers  also  availed  themselves  sometimes 
of  the  same  means  of  escape.  There  was  generally  a  horse  for 
each  passenger  upon  so  dangerous  a  road.  When  they  chose, 
they,  of  course,  could  make  the  experiment  as  well  as  the 
driver.  When  the  attacking  party,  however,  was  small,  it  was 
often  better  policy  for  all  to  stand  and  defend  their  lives  upon 
the  spot  by  a  battle.  In  such  case,  the  driver  was  naturally 
the  commander-in-chief  of  the  defending  party.  Such  resist 
ance  was  often  made  with  success  against  fearful  odds.  But 
when  the  Indians,  as  sometimes  occurred,  came  in  overwhelm 
ing  numbers,  the  escape  by  mounting  one  of  the  horses  was 
the  only  plan  that  possessed  the  remotest  chance  of  success. 
This  plan  was  now  open  to  Jack  Gowdy.  Had  he  been  alone, > 
or  had  his  passengers  been  all  grown-up  men,  able  to  defend 
themselves,  he  would,  in  less  time  than  it  has  taken  us  to  relate 
the  situation,  have  been  mounted  upon  the  fleetest  horse  in  his 
team,  and  flying  back  on  the  return  road,  or  over  the  hills  in 
safety.  But  the  recollection  of  the  little  blue-eyed  girl,  whose  kiss 
was  yet  warm  upon  his  lips,  held  him  chained  to  the  spot.  "Who 
is  to  bring  away  that  woman  and  her  children,  if  1  run  away 
and  leave  her?"  he  thought  to  himself,  as  the  idea  of  escape 
entered  his  mind.  "  What  sort  of  a  show  would  those  children 
have  in  riding  a  stage-horse  bare-backed  over  these  hills  ?  "  The 
driver's  resolution  was  formed  in  an  instant.  "Jack  Gowdy  is  a 
gentleman,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  laid  his  whip  upon 
the  frightened  horses,  and  sent  them  springing  madly  forward 
on  the  road  straight  through  the  hostile  ambuscade;  "and  he 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  397 

never  yet  went  back,  when  a  woman  and  children  were  in 
trouble  and  needed  a  gentleman  to  stand  by  them.  And  if  he 
has  never  done  it  up  to  this  time,  he  will  not  commence  now. 
He  braced  himself  firmly  in  his  seat,  tightened  up  his  reins  and 
plied  his  whip.  He  saw  that  the  road  was  clear  of  obstructions. 
The  savages  were  posted  behind  the  rocks  through  which  he 
had  to  pass.  But  they  kept  out  of  the  road  from  fear  that  the 
coach  might,  as  it  sometimes  did  prove  to  be,  filled  with  armed 
soldiers.  They  took  their  chances  on  being  able  to  shoot  from 
their  concealment,  the  driver,  as  he  sat  on  the  box,  and  then 
doing  the  same  to  the  passengers,  as  they  should  come  out  of 
the  coach  afterwards.  They  had  not  been  upon  the  spot  long 
enough  to  obstruct  the  road  by  a  barricade,  as  they  otherwise 
would  have  done.  Jack  saw  the  chance  of  putting  through  with 
his  charge,  and  he  resolved  to  try  it.  The  horses  responded 
gallantly  to  the  call  made  upon  them,  and  flew  along  the  .open 
road  with  the  speed  of  the  wind.  As  Jack  dashed  along  through 
the  terrible  pass,  he  returned  the  Apaches  their  own  yell  of  de 
fiance.  He  could  give  it  as  clear  and  as  shrill  as  it  was  ever 
shouted  by  Apache  brave  over  the  writhing  body  of  a  roasting 
emigrant.  Bang !  Bang  !  Bang !  came  the  rattle  of  the  arms, 
and  a  blaze  of  fire  burst  forth  from  behind  the  rocks,  and  pat 
tered  like  hail  down  upon  the  passing  stage-coach.  But  firm 
as  a  rock,  Jack  Gowdy  sat  up  in  his  place,  and  when  he  dashed 
through  the  army  of  savages,  and  out  of  the  range  of  their  guns, 
a  fierce  howl  of  disappointed  rage  and  hatred  floated  on  the 
wind  in  pursuit  of  the  flying  coach. 

"  Turn  out !  Turn  out !  Jack  Gowdy  is  in  trouble,"  shouted 
the  man  on  watch  at  the  next  station,  not  a  mile  from  the  scene 
of  attack.  Then  there  was  a  rush  for  arms  and  a  closing  of 
doors  at  the  little  fortress,  for  they  could  already  see  the  team 
that  was  dashing  furiously  over  the  plains  in  the  direction  of 
the  block-house. 

"1  don't  think  anybody  is  hurt,"  said  the  sentinel,  looking 
down  the  load  at  the  coming  coach ;  "I  can  see  Gowdy  in  his 
place,  looking  as  cool  as  a  cucumber  in  an  ice-box.  Old  Jack 
Gowdy  don't  ask  any  odds  of  the  Apaches,  if  they  will  just  give 
him  a  square  deal,"  was  the  admiring  comment  made  in  reply 
to  the  sentinel.  "Jack  Gowdy  is  no  dung-hill  chicken,  he  is 
not,  you  can  bet  your  life." 

At  the  rate  the  coach  came,  there  was  but  little  time  for  fur 
ther  remarks.  Gowdy,  true  enough,  sat  erect  in  his  place, 
holding  firmly  the  lines,  while  the  horses  dashed  up  to  the  dooi 


398  ROBERT  GREATHOUSE. 

of  the  station  and  stopped,  as  was  their  habit.  They  heard 
the  brave  driver's  voice,  but  they  heard  it  only  once.  It  was 
clear  and  ringing,  but  it  suddenly  ceased. 

"The  damned  red-skins  have  killed  me,"  he  shouted.  "  But 
they  did  not  get  that  woman  and  her  blue-eyed  babies,  this  trip, 
by  God." 

Then  there  was  a  heavy  fall ;  and  the  driver  was  seen 
stretched  in  the  road,  in  front  of  the  coach  wheels.  They 
picked  him  up  and  bore  him  into  the  station.  The  little  blue 
eyed  girl  followed  her  new  friend  inside,  and  looked  in  his  face. 
For  a  minute,  she  thought  she  saw  a  smile  of  recognition  dwell 
for  a  moment  upon  the  weather-beaten  visage  of  the  stage- 
driver,  and  then  all  was  fixed  and  vacant.  They  examined  him 
in  search  for  wounds.  The  bullets  of  the  Apaches  had  plunged 
through  his  body  in  half  a  score  of  places.  The  rude  skill  of 
the  backwoodsmen  knew  no  balsam  that  could  heal  such  inju 
ries.  All  the  science  known  to  the  sons  of  men  could  not  have 
produced  one  single  pulsation  in  the  brave  heart  that  was  now 
stilled.  The  number  of  gentlemen  in  the  world  was  reduced 
by  one.  Jack  Gowdy  was  dead. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 

EXEUNT   OMNES. 

WHEN  Mr.  Graham  and  his  daughter  reached  their  old 
quarters  at  the  Cosmodental  Hotel,  they  found  themselves  at 
once  surrounded  by  a  host  of  sympathizing  friends.  The 
news  of  the  immense  strike  in  the  fourth  level  of  the  mine 
had  quite  swallowed  up  that  other  marvel  of  nine  days' 
standing,  the  temporary  and  disgraceful  disappearance  of  the 
owner. 

The  first  gentleman  to  meet  Mr.  Graham,  and  to  seize  his 
hand  with  an  affectionate  grasp,  was  Mr.  Ebenezer  Gudgeon 
The  whole  Gudgeon  family,  father,  mother,  and  interesting  son, 
Vanderbilt,  spent  the  evening  in  No.  42.  They  were  so  glad 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  399 

to  see  their  dear  friends  once  more  that  they  could  not  tear 
themselves  away  till  long  after  midnight. 

The  next  day  Vanderbilt  was  early  to  call  and  late  to  go 
away.  Blanche  Mclver  was  in  ecstasies. 

"  There  is  still  hope  for  me  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  shall  escape 
the  odious  wretch.  He  will  propose  to  you,  Baby,  and  then, 
if  you  have  the  humanity  of  an  oyster,  you  will  accept  him  for 
my  sake." 

In  less  than  a  week  Helen  confessed  to  Blanche  that  she 
saw  no  help  for  it. 

"  He  seems  determined  to  propose  to  me,  do  what  I  will  to 
prevent  it.  I  feel  it  coming  every  time  he  enters  the  parlor. 
I  have  sent  him  off  a  dozen  times,  first  by  changing  the  conver 
sation,  and  later  by  other  more  violent  measures,  when  that 
proved  insufficient.  But  I  feel  there  is  no  help  for  it  but  to 
have  him  propose,  unless  I  tell  him  of  my  engagement.  That 
I  must  do,  I  suppose,  for  I  do  not  wish  to  be  compelled  to  re 
fuse  him." 

Poor  Blanche  pleaded  hard  for  her  friend  to  allow  him  to  go 
on  and  make  his  offer  to  her  and  be  refused.  But  that  Helen 
could  not  consent  to  do. 

"  It  would  be  wicked,  Blanche,"  she  said,  "  and  I  cannot 
do  it.'1 

At  last  her  course  was  agreed  upon,  that  at  his  next  visit 
Vanderbilt  should  be  put  out  of  his  misery. 

"  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Gudgeon,"  she  said,  the 
next  time  that  gentleman  made  his  appearance  at  No.  42, 
"  something  that  I  confide  to  you  as  a  friend,  but  which  is  to  go 
no  further." 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked.  "You  may  depend  upon  my 
discretion." 

"  I  have  become  engaged  to  be  married,  Mr.  Gudgeon." 

"To  whom,  Miss  Graham?"  he  demanded  fiercely,  already 
bursting  with  indignation. 

"  That  must  remain  a  secret  for  some  time  longer,"  she  re 
plied,  "but  I  will  tell  you  as  soon  as  I  may  tell  any  one." 

Young  Gudgeon  immediately  arose  and  hurried  out  of  the 
room  to  return  no  more.  In  this  he  was  followed  by  the 
whole  Gudgeon  family.  All  remained  away  for  the  future, 
greatly  to  the  delight  of  Mr.  Graham  and  his  daughter. 

But  the  secret  of  Helen's  engagement  only  remained  a  secret 
till  Vanderbilt  reached  the  street.  Then  it  came  back  to  No. 
42  in  all  sorts  of  shapes  and  disguises.  She  had  promised  her 


400  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

hand,  so  it  was  said,  to  a  famous  gambler,  called  Bob  Great* 
house,  the  murderer.  Others  had  even  good  reason  for  think 
ing  that  she  had  engaged  her  hand  to  a  drunken  stage-driver 
in  Washoe,  whose  name  no  one  pretended  to  remember,  or, 
indeed,  ever  to  have  heard.  No  one  suspected  the  true  state 
of  the  case. 

Acting  under  the  inspiration  of  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon,  the 
friend  of  the  family,  all  vied  in  adding  to  the  extravagant 
stories  of  the  absurd  manner  in  which  the  heart  of  the  young 
beauty  had  been  captured.  She  had  kept  open  house,  it  was 
said,  during  her  father's  absence,  and  her  visitors  had  been  the 
most  disreputable  persons.  Indeed,  it  was  said  that  she  had 
condescended  to  meet  and  be  civil  to  people  altogether  be 
neath  her.  People  who  were  not  worth  ten  thousand  dollars 
in  the  world  had  been  received  by  her  upon  terms  of  social 
equality. 

Another  set,  however,  either  from  motives  of  gallantry  to  the 
sex  when  hardly  used,  or  perhaps  from  a  love  of  being  in  op 
position,  took  up  the  cudgel  for  the  young  lady,  and  made  a 
handsome  fight  for  her.  They  denied  the  disreputable  insinu 
ation  that  Miss  Graham  had  associated  with  low  people  with 
out  wealth  or  social  position,  and  declared  the  charge  to  be 
wholly  groundless.  They  even  went  so  far  as  boldly  to  chal^ 
lenge  the  malign ers  to  the  proof. 

It  would  be  found,  so  they  said,  that  no  person  had  ever  en 
tered  Miss  Graham's  apartments  at  Washoe  who  was  not  in 
possession  of  at  least  a  respectable  property,  either  in  shares 
or  money.  As  for  her  engagement,  it  was,  they  declared,  a 
most  creditable  one.  Her  intended  husband  was  one  of  the 
wealthiest  gentlemen  in  the  country,  being  no  other  than  Mr. 
Enoch  Bloodstone,  the  well-known  man  of  fortune. 

While  San  Francisco  high  life  was  occupying  itself  with 
conjectures  and  disturbing  rumors  concerning  the  now  wealthy 
and  respectable  Grahams,  Henry  Stacey  was  chiefly  engaged  in 
Washoe  Territory  settling  up  the  affairs  of  his  client,  who  had 
resolved  not  again  to  return  to  a  place  so  associated  with  sad 
and  distressing  recollections.  Mr.  Graham  could  not  forgive 
himself  for  his  own  course  in  pursuing  the  search  for  the  silver 
vein,  as  he  did,  to  the  oblivion  of  all  other  considerations. 

"  I  am  not  innocent  of  Matilda's  death,"  was  his  constant 
reproach  to  himself.  "I  sold  her  for  gold." 

Nothing  could  dissuade  him  from  this  notion. 


ROBERT   GREATHOUSE.  401 

"  At  least,"  he  declared,  "  I  will  not  accept  the  purchase 
money." 

The  nearest  that  he  would  come  to  a  deviation  from  this 
resolution  was  to  give  the  mine  to  his  children. 

"You  were  thrown  into  the  monstrous  bargain,  Helen,"  he 
said.  "  You  were  bartered  away  once  for  the  miserable  dross, 
and  at  least  ought  not  to  be  deprived  of  your  share  of  the 
profits." 

Had  it  not  been  for  Helen's  rights,  he  declared  that  he 
would  have  fled  from  the  Territory,  leaving  the  mine  again  to 
the  first  occupant.  And  this  resolution  he  held  inflexibly  to 
the  day  of  his  death,  three  years  afterward.  He  would  never 
accept  of  any  property,  favor,  or  advantage  that  could,  in  any 
manner,  be  traced  to  the  profits  of  the  mine.  To  Helen  he 
said,  — 

"  Your  hands  are  clean  ;  the  treasure  is  purified  before  it 
reaches  you.  It  comes  as  the  price  of  your  own,  not  another's 
suffering,  so  take  and  enjoy  it  as  much  as  you  may,  for  you 
have  earned  it  and  a  thousand-fold  more  than  it  can  bring." 

Henry  Stacey,  in  pursuance  of  Mr.  Graham's  instructions, 
made  no  effort  to  work  the  mine,  but  proceeded  at  once  to  sell 
it  for  the  benefit  of  the  daughter.  A  joint  stock  company  was 
formed,  and  in  three  months  the  whole  property  had  been  sold 
for  five  millions  of  dollars,  a  sum  which  the  new  owners  were 
able  to  take  from  the  mine  within  the  first  year  of  their 
operations. 

Harry  was,  however,  required  with  the  money  to  provide 
for  all  just  charges  that  ought  to  come  out  of  the  property. 
This  he  faithfully  did.  His  first  effort  was  directed  to  the 
discovery  of  the  three  men  who  had  rescued  Mr.  Graham 
from  the  hands  of  the  wicked  conspirators. 

He  soon  heard  of  the  sad  death  of  Jack  Gowdy,  as  well 
as  of  the  departure  of  Greathouse  for  the  South  to  join  the 
army  of  the  Rebellion.  Joe  Bowers,  however,  he  soon  found, 
and  insisted  upon  his  accepting  such  a  reward  as  should 
place  him  in  the  position  of  a  wealthy  man  for  life.  Joe  re 
turned  to  his  old  home  in  Missouri,  and  afterwards  married 
a  younger  sister  of  the  lady  who  had  forgotten  her  engage 
ment  to  him  in  her  love  for  the  butcher.  The  sister  was  even 
handsomer,  so  Joe  thought,  than  Eliza,  in  her  best  days. 

"  There  are  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  have  ever  been 
caught,"  was  Joe's  remark  to  a  friend  who  referred  to  his 
old  love. 


402  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

He  has  now  a  fine  farm  on  the  banks  of  Calumet  Creek, 
his  old  home. 

Charley  Hunter,  the  youth  who  had  proved  so  faithful  a  com 
panion  to  Helen  in  her  trouble,  and  who,  at  the  risk  of  his  life, 
had  gone  in  search  of  Greathouse  to  come  to  her  rescue,  was 
not  forgotten.     He  was  enabled  to  return  to  his  mother  at  the, 
East,  with  a  fortune  quite  sufficient  to  put  them  all  in  easy  cir 
cumstances,  where  he  now  resides.     The  stage  company  were 
one  day  surprised  by  an  anonymous  donation  of  ten  thousand  dol 
lars,  which  amply  repaid  the  shareholders  for  the  loss  of  stock, 
consequent  upon  Jack  Gowdy's  runaway  freak.     Before  leav 
ing  California,  Harry  Stacey  and  Helen  Graham  were  married. 
Blanche  Mclver  stood  as  bridesmaid  for  the  young  lady.     It 
would  have  been  only  natural,  under  the   circumstances,  for 
Vanderbilt  Gudgeon  to  have  accompanied  Blanche  in  the  char 
acter  of  best  man  for  Harry.     But  that  gentleman  declined  to 
do  so.     He  had  not  time  to  get  ready,  but  requested,  as  was 
his  custom,  that  his  friend  Mr.  -Bowles,  should  perform  that  ser 
vice.     So  the  faithful  Bowles,  for  the  hundredth,  perhaps  for  the 
thousandth  time,  took  Vanderbilt' s  place  by  the    side  of  his 
fiancee  to  relieve  that  gentleman  from  an  unpleasant  duty. 
The    ceremony  was    performed  by  the    Protestant    Episcopal 
Bishop  of  California.     That  most  handsome  of  all  the  prelates 
in  the  world,  as  was  admitted  by  all  present,  had  never  come 
out  so  stunning  as  on  this  occasion.     It  was  remarked  that  his 
hands  had  never  looked  so  white,  or  been  waved  so  gracefully 
against  the  beautiful  lawn  back -ground  as  now,  and  his  voice 
was,  so  ladies  said,  altogether  heavenly.     And  when  it  was  over 
he  remarked,  in  the  hearing  of  all  his  intimate  friends,  that  he  > 
had  never  united  in  marriage  so  handsome  a  couple  as  upon 
this  present  most  happy  occasion.     We  need,  we  presume,  go 
no  further  in 'the  description  of  the  beautiful  affair.     The  wed 
ding  took  place  upon  the  morning  of  the  sailing  of  the  steamer 
for  the  East.     At  one  o'clock  of  the  same  day,  the  young  mar 
ried  couple,  with  Mr.  Graham,  were  sailing  away  for  their  old 
home  in  Pennsylvania,  where  they  all  arrived  safely,  and  where 
they  maybe  seen  at  any  day  in  the  old  Graham  mansion  in  Ches 
ter  county.     There  was  a  strong  disposition  on  the  part  of 
Harry,  to  reside  at  Wilmington,  in  Delaware,  because  of  its  as-  / 
sociation,  but  the  request  of  Mr.  Graham,  that  the  family  should 
remain  where  for  so  many  generations  it  had  been  pla.nted, 
prevailed ;  and  the  young  people  yielded  to  the  request.     Very 
soon  after  the  marriage  of  Harry  and  Helen,  a  second  wedding 


ROBERT  GREATHOUSE.  403 

came  off  in  the  same  church  and  before  the  same  Right  Rever 
end  gentleman.  Mr.  Vanderbilt  Gudgeon  had  at  last,  in  des 
pair  of  making  a  better  market  of  himself,  determined  to  accept 
the  best  that  lay  in  his  way,  and  to  marry  Blanche  Mclver. 

"Her  hundred  thousand  dollars  were,"  he  grumbled  to  his 
father,  "better  than  nothing,  and  nothing  else  seemed  likely  to 
come  to  him." 

Accordingly  the  day  was  fixed  for  a  certain  Thursday,  at 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Special  cards  were  issued  and 
sent  out,  inviting  all  respectable  persons  already  retired  from 
business,  as  well  as  all  others  known  to  possess  clear  and  unin- 
cumbered  taxable  property  above  the  value  of  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  to  attend  and  join  in  the  festivities  to  be  given 
on  the  happy  occasion  at  the  Cosmodental  Hotel,  where  the 
parents  of  bridegroom  and  bride  resided.  The  preparations 
were  of  the  most  elegant  and  tasteful  character.  But  the 
time  for  the  wedding  had  already  elapsed,  and  the  bride  had 
not  made  her  appearance.  As  the  whole  party  had  still  to  go 
from  the  hotel  to  the  bishop's  cathedral  for  the  ceremony, 
the  company  became  impatient.  Inquiry  became  eager  and 
pressing,  until  at  last  a  messenger  was  sent  up  stairs  to  her  fa 
ther's  rooms  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  extraordinary  delay.  She 
had  dressed  herself  half  an  hour  before,  so  the  report  said,  for 
the  wedding,  and  had  stepped  out  for  a  moment  in  company 
with  a  young  gentleman,  a  friend  of  the  family.  They  were  ex 
pecting  her  back  immediately.  But  while  the  messenger  still 
remained,  a  boy  came  with  a  note  from  Blanche  to  her  father. 
She  had  just  been  married,  and  was  now  on  her  way  to  San 
Jose  upon  a  wedding  tour.  Her  husband  was  the  faithful 
Bowles.  She  had  stepped  away  in  advance  of  the  company, 
and,  finding  the  good-natured  bishop  in  full  canonicals,  waiting 
for  the  wedding  party,  had  been  married  on  the  spot,  and  was 
off  to  spend  the  honeymoon. 

The  breaking  up  and  dispersing  of  the  brilliant  assemblage 
was  in  keeping  with  the  disaster  that  had  brought  it  about.  Old 
Gudgeon  countermanded  the  supper  and  champagne  directly 
that  the  news  of  the  runaway  reached  his  ears.  But  he  was 
sorry  afterward  that  his  economy  had  taken  that  direction. 
The  editors  and  reporters,  indignant  at  the  unjust  deprivation 
imposed  upon  them,  went  directly  from  the  hotel  to  their  print 
ing  offices,  nor  slept  till  they  had  put  their  wrath  in  type.  So 
they  scored  him  the  next  morning  most  unmercifully,  and  set 
the  whole  town  laughing  at  him  and  his  heir  apparent. 


404  ROBERT   GREATHOUSE. 

We  have  now  disposed  of  all  our  characters  in  whom  the 
reader  is  likely  to  take  any  interest,  save  Robert  Greathouse 
alone.  The  story  of  him  must  be  short,  for  we  have  little  to 
tell.  He  made  his  way  successfully  back  to  the  land  of  his 
youth,  and  was  welcomed  by  his  old  companions  in  arms.  We 
heard  once  from  him,  and  that  shortly  after  his  arrival  in  Texas. 
He  had  been  again  made  a  Colonel  of  Rangers,  and  was  about 
to  set  upon  an  expedition  against  the  Federal  forces.  Then 
there  came  the  news  of  a  desperate  battle  that  had  raged  for 
a  day  and  a  night.  When  the  sun  again  arose  upon  the  ensan 
guined  field,  it  was  strewn  with  the  now  friendly  soldiers 
of  both  sides,  locked  in  death's  embrace.  No  record  was  kept 
of  the  slain,  but  all  lay  rotting  in  confused  heaps,  awaiting  the 
last  trump  that  will  call  them  to  answer  a  roll  upon  which  their 
names  will  be  unerringly  inscribed.  But  the  commanding  offi 
cer  was  not  spoken  of  again  during  the  war,  and  his  deeds 
passed  into  oblivion.  But  upon  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Grande 
del  Norte,  may  be  seen  to  day  a  simple  slab,  with  the  short  in 
scription,  "  Here  lies  Robert  Greathouse,  late  Colonel  of 
Texan  Rangers,  who  fell  in  battle  on  this  spot,  October  iyth, . 
186-,  aged  29  years." 


THE    END. 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 
University  of  California  Library 
or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 
2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 

(415)642-6233 
1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books 

to  NRLF 
Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days 

prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

MAR  1  6  1990 


""'"'  cr 

CO 


^i» 

f 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


